


Wrong Delivery

by dragongirlG, KOranges



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Body Image, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Embedded Images, Food Issues, Gen, Hazing, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Lighter than the tags suggest, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Panic Attacks, Past Violence, Pizza, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Social Anxiety, Social Media, Stucky AU Big Bang 2018, Studio Ghibli References, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/pseuds/KOranges
Summary: Between fending off his crippling loneliness, working for a rumored former intelligence agent, and adjusting to a mid-semester housing change, Steve Rogers has his work cut out for him getting through daily life at Triskelion University. When a pizza meant for a mysterious "James" arrives on his doorstep, Steve goes on a mission to deliver it to its rightful owner. After a few false starts, Steve forms a tentative friendship with James "Bucky" Barnes, a reticent engineering student who has recently returned to TU after a private leave of absence.Bucky and Steve’s relationship soon progresses into an adorable romance that has their friends simultaneously rolling their eyes and cheering for them on the sidelines. When unexpected revelations threaten to destroy the happiness they've built, Bucky and Steve must decide whether to let their past mistakes define their relationship or whether to forge a brave new path together with trust, love, and acceptance.Or: A Shrinkyclinks college + coffee shop AU featuring the Avengers and the Carters as a found platonic family, dramatic college kid shenanigans, a touch of seriousness, and a happy smutty ending.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally be posting my Stucky AU Big Bang fic! This is the first Big Bang I've ever done, and it's been quite a long haul. 
> 
> Fun fact: this story was inspired by a real-life event where I got handed someone else's delivery order and the delivery driver drove off before I could hand it back. 
> 
> **Acknowledgements:** This fic would not have been possible without the patient efforts of my beta and video game expert W, cheerleading from [gracelesso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracelesso/pseuds/gracelesso) at a critical moment, and support from various members of the SAUBB Slack chat and Stucky discords. Extra kudos to the mods of the Big Bang, who always responded to my questions and requests professionally and promptly. 
> 
> **Art:** The wonderful drawings that accompany this work were done by [KOranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/pseuds/KOranges) (tumblr: [walkingstardust](http://walkingstardust.tumblr.com/)). I was so lucky to get such wonderful pieces and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the hard work that was put into them. The story banner was made by [mortenavida](http://mortenavida.tumblr.com/), who graciously and generously fulfilled my last-minute request, and I made the Asgard pizza logo and receipt featured in the first chapter and in the banner. 
> 
> **Warnings** : This story references issues such as homophobia, hazing, bullying, racism, rape culture, toxic masculinity, chronic illness and injury, and various forms of bigotry. **Please heed the tags.** I have placed additional warnings not in the tags, as well as chapter-specific references, in the end notes of each chapter. I have also noted if there are end note warnings at the beginning note in the chapter. 
> 
> That said, I promise that the story is much more light-hearted than the tags actually suggest! It was intended to be a romantic comedy and I think it still is at its core. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a misdelivered pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see warnings in the end notes. The warnings contain spoilers.

 

 

_**NextDorm.com: The private social network for your university campus residence** _

**Is your name James, and are you missing your pizza?**

_Steve Rogers (Shield) –_ Fri Oct 19, 8:00 PM

 

> Hi all,
> 
> An UberEats delivery guy accidentally gave me a pan-size Veggie Valkyrie pizza from Asgard Pizza. It belongs to someone named "James." See picture below. If this is you, please message me privately with your contact information. I will confirm it is yours and deliver it back to you as soon as possible.
> 
> **asgard-pizza-receipt.jpg**

-

 _Tony Stark (The Tower)_ – Fri Oct 19, 8:02 PM

 

> Uh, not to be rude, but why don't you just eat it?

_-_

_Clint Barton (Shield)_ – Fri Oct 19, 8:05 PM

 

> I'll take it if you don't want it

_-_

_Pepper Potts (The Tower)_ – Fri Oct 19, 8:10 PM

 

> Have you tried to go back into the app and see if there's contact information for your delivery person?

_-_

_Steve Rogers (Shield)_ – Fri Oct 19, 8:17 PM 

 

> @Pepper Potts: Yes, unfortunately there's no way to contact the delivery person except for when they're in transit with the food, and even then it's through a filter that doesn't reveal their name or phone number. I tried to call customer service but ended up waiting on hold for 15 minutes before giving up. I put the pizza in my fridge for now.
> 
> @Tony Stark: I'm lactose intolerant.
> 
> @Clint Barton: No.

_-_

_Brock Rumlow_ _(Shield)_ – Fri Oct 19, 9:35 PM 

 

> What kind of "man" orders delivery just for a pan-size anyway. And veggie too? F**** weak.

_-_

_Sam Wilson (Air Force ROTC) –_ Fri Oct 19, 9:50 PM 

 

> @Brock Rumlow: Man, shut the hell up. We don't need that toxic masculinity crap up in here.

_-_

_Steve Rogers (Shield)_ – Fri Oct 19, 10:00 PM 

 

> @Brock Rumlow: Go crawl back to your HYDRA frathouse, you dick. You don't even live here anymore.

* * *

Steve huffed angrily, rubbing his temple as he turned his attention back to his desk. A half-finished self-portrait stared back at him from his laptop monitor, but he couldn't concentrate any longer, too fired up from Rumlow's comment to even think about sitting still. He knew he shouldn't let the words get to him. Normally he'd just roll his eyes and shrug it off, but this was the icing on top of the cake of an already shitty month.

Steve hastily saved and closed the image file before he started drawing angry lines across his digital face with his tablet. With a loud sigh, he stood up to stretch, wincing as his crooked spine and overworked wrists cracked with a series of loud pops. His eyes wandered around the tiny studio apartment, passing over the sealed boxes stacked haphazardly against the wall and landing on the full pile of dishes in the sink. With a grimace, he dragged himself to the kitchenette, promptly decided that he'd do the dishes later, and opened his fridge mindlessly in an effort to distract himself. His gaze caught on the pizza responsible for the constant buzzing of Steve's cell. It sat innocuously next to Steve's grilled chicken salad, just a little cardboard box with a slightly damp receipt.

Steve briefly considered throwing it out, but his chest tightened at the very thought. Not so long ago a $15 pizza might have been the only meal he could afford that day. If he could find James in the next three days—the amount of time the food would safely stay edible if refrigerated—then he would make sure the man got his pizza. James had to live close by if he was getting deliveries from Asgard. He was probably another stressed student.

Steve drank a glass of water, then sat down tiredly onto his bed and pulled up his calendar on his phone. He had the afternoon shift at Carter's Café tomorrow, which meant he could sleep in or get some errands done if he woke up early enough. He doubted that the latter would happen. He was still exhausted from moving into a new apartment mid-semester.

Brock Rumlow had been Steve's roommate up until two weeks ago. Rumlow was in his third year at Triskelion University, majoring in sports administration, while Steve, in his second year, was pursuing a major in history and a minor in art and design. They had met last spring in a Sociology class and had partnered together on a few projects. Steve hated to admit that they'd actually worked well together – Steve's ability to strategize and manage the big picture had meshed well with Rumlow's detailed execution of each step.

Steve had asked Rumlow to be his new roommate at the end of the spring semester, when Steve's roommate and best friend Sam had told Steve that he was required to move into the ROTC dorm as part of the Air Force ROTC cohort. Rumlow was a member of the university's most infamous fraternity, HYDRA, which should have been a red flag, but Steve had been so relieved, and so quietly desperate, that he'd purposefully disregarded the warning bells ringing in his head. He and Rumlow had moved into a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment in the Shield dorm building at the start of the fall semester.

It had taken two months of living with Rumlow for Steve to realize that he'd made a huge mistake. Rumlow was messy, inconsiderate, and obnoxious; he never helped clean up around the apartment, constantly had his friends over to roll and smoke illicit joints, and shouted and swore while watching football games in the living room all the time. He was also paranoid about his privacy, and at least twice a week he accused Steve of stepping into his room and peering at or touching his things.

Steve had neither the desire nor the energy to bother entering the pigsty that made up Rumlow's half of the apartment, and he'd firmly and angrily told Rumlow that every single time. Rumlow, in turn, had gotten furious at the implication that he lived like an animal. Over time he proceeded to throw all manner of insults of Steve, ragging on him about his "weak fucked-up body," his "girly" interest in art, and his "disgusting and unnatural" sexuality, unknowingly echoing several of Steve's childhood insecurities that he thought he'd already worked through.

By the time midterms rolled around, Steve had reached a breaking point. He felt like he could hardly be in the apartment without constantly watching his back, but he also felt like he couldn't leave, fearing Rumlow would exact some kind of petty retribution while he was away. Steve ended up storing his most valuable things in Sam's room for safekeeping, then spent the rest of the week holing up in the library or the art studio to study for exams and work on his midterm projects.

As soon as Steve had finished midterms, he had dropped by the housing office and quietly requested a transfer to a single suite for "confidential health reasons." The housing staff had not been pleased at the mid-semester change. Steve had felt guilty about the logistical hassle, but he'd stood his ground, waiting until they had given him a signed and stamped approval.

Rumlow had been furious when Steve asked him to sign the form saying that he agreed to the change. Steve had backed toward the door and braced himself for physical violence: but all Rumlow did was scrawl his name in the approximate right place, bearing down so hard that he poked a hole through the sheet. He'd then gone to his room, slammed the door, and blasted death metal at full volume through his sub-woofer.

Steve had gone out into the courtyard and proceeded to call Sam, who grudgingly agreed to let Steve store the rest of his stuff with him and his roommate Riley until Steve was officially able to move. Steve had stayed with Sam that night, and then they'd gone back the next morning to pack Steve's stuff while Rumlow was sleeping off a post-party hangover at the Hydra frat house. Steve had been relieved to find that none of his things had been damaged, although there was a broken glass bottle leaking beer onto the carpeted floor of his room. Steve had carefully cleaned it up, seething furiously the whole time. He'd been tempted to throw glass shards into Rumlow's room, but he'd restrained himself and disposed of everything safely in the trash.

Now here he was, a week into living alone. Steve was determined to revel in his newfound freedom, even though, he hated to admit, he was a little lonely. He longed for the days that he could come home and see Sam hanging out in the living room, creating a huge stack of flashcards while watching _The Great British Baking Show_. Steve had been the beneficiary of more than a few of Sam's late-night inspirations to make baked goods. Sometimes, in his lonelier moments, Steve wondered if Sam was relieved that they were no longer roommates. Even though Sam had never seemed to mind taking care of Steve during their first year, Steve knew he'd been in a rough state, alternating between depression, anxiety, and long periods of apathy while he grieved for his mother and tried to adjust to a totally new environment.

Steve's mother Sarah Rogers had died the summer after Steve finished high school. She'd finished her last round of chemotherapy against breast cancer shortly before he graduated, but in the end, the cancer won anyway: a month before Steve started college, she was hospitalized for the final time, and passed in hospice a week later.

The days following her death were still blurred in Steve's memory. He remembered going to the funeral home, getting her ashes, and trekking out to Ellis Island to scatter them as she'd requested in her will. He had brief, half-formed recollections of packing up the apartment and signing all the legal documents relating to her estate, which had included a small college fund that had gotten transferred into his account. He knew he'd checked over the account, paid to put a bunch of stuff in storage, and decided he had enough to cover his first year at TU, with the help of a Pell grant and some savings from his odd jobs and art commissions in high school. However, he couldn't really say how he'd ended up on the Greyhound from Brooklyn to DC, or what he'd done in the weeks leading up to the start of the semester.

Steve's first real memory of DC was TU's move-in weekend, which he also considered the lowest point of his college experience. Watching his fellow freshmen move in with their parents, pretending that they didn't want their parents' help while accepting their parents' love and support, was like getting stabbed over and over in the heart. Steve had almost turned back that day. He'd stood on the sidewalk, twisting the cord of his dorm key and staring at the ratty suitcases at his feet, and wondered if any of this was worth it.

(Part of him had berated himself for feeling that way. That part had told him that he had to honor his mother's memory - he had to do this for her, to repay all the time and money she'd sacrificed to raise him, and even more importantly, to return the love she'd given him. But she was dead, and he was alone, and as he'd watched the happy families around him, all he had been able to think was: who would even care if he disappeared?)

He might have stood there for hours, clutching the straps of his backpack as the world faded in and out of focus, if it hadn't been for Sam and his mother. Mrs. Wilson had come up to Steve and asked if he needed any help finding where he needed to go. She hadn't asked any questions about his parents, simply introduced him to Sam—who, by sheer coincidence, been assigned as Steve's roommate.

Mrs. Wilson proceeded to help him and Sam move into Phillips Hall together, mothering Steve in a way that he'd sorely missed: watching like a hawk to make sure Steve didn't fall off the loft bed while he pulled his sheets over the lumpy mattress, scolding him gently when he tried to stuff all his clothes onto a shelf instead of hanging them up to let out wrinkles, and reminding him (and Sam) that they needed to do laundry periodically, brush their teeth and wash their faces twice a day, and eat a balanced diet, though they could make an exception for any special deliveries of her famous mac and cheese.

When Steve had quietly admitted that he was lactose intolerant, Mrs. Wilson had said, "Don't you worry, honey. I'll just be making it with lactose-free milk from now on, how's that sound?" Then she'd turned to Sam and said, "Did you hear that? Don't be feeding this boy cheese or milk or any of that ice cream you like so much. If I find out he got sick because of your obsession with feeding everyone 'real' New York pizza, you'll be having words with me."

Steve had flushed with embarrassment, then mumbled, "I've had real New York pizza. I grew up in Brooklyn, ma'am."

"Problem solved," Sam declared. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm not going to kill him."

"See that you don't," said Mrs. Wilson sternly.  

The inevitable question of Steve's family had arisen when Sam, Steve, and Mrs. Wilson had gone out for a late lunch. Steve had looked down at the remnants of his chicken stir-fry, pushing it around on his plate. His voice cracked as he said, "They're dead. It was just me and my ma. She passed a couple months ago. Cancer. And my dad, he—he died when I was three years old, when he was on deployment in Afghanistan."

"Oh, honey," said Mrs. Wilson, taking his hand, "I'm so sorry. I can tell you're real strong, coming here all by yourself, but if you need anything, you let me know, all right? Don't be afraid to ask."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said in a choked voice.

"Hey, me too," said Sam. "We don't know each other that well yet, but I support you, man. If you need alone time, or company, or a hug or anything, I'm here."

Sam had ended up being Steve's life raft, socially and emotionally, throughout their first year. Sam's friendly demeanor, along with his built-in social network of fellow ROTC recruits and student government volunteers, meant that he had quickly become acquainted with several people on campus. Steve had ended up forming relationships by proxy. That was how Steve had met Sharon Carter, another student government volunteer, who had in turn introduced him to her great-aunt Peggy, who had promptly given him a job at Carter's Cafe after he offered to carry her groceries when he passed her on the street.

Sam and Steve had also taken most of the same general requirement classes together in the first semester, making them study buddies in addition to roommates. Their grades had benefited and so had their friendship. Between completing assignments and cramming for exams, they bonded over their displacement as New Yorkers in DC (Sam was from Harlem, Steve from Brooklyn), their status as first-generation college kids (a far cry from the many "legacy" students that dominated the campus), and their childhoods in single-parent, lower-income households (though Sam had two sisters, and Steve was an only child).

It was Sam who encouraged Steve to pursue an art and design minor instead of focusing entirely on a traditional academic field, explaining that Steve was doing nothing wrong spending time on something that he used as an emotional outlet. It was Steve who accompanied Sam on late-night trips to the rec center while he trained for his Physical Fitness test, which Sam had to pass in the first semester to keep his Air Force ROTC scholarship. (Steve didn't do Sam's intense regimen, of course, but he did putter around and follow the recommended exercise guidelines his pediatrician had given him when he was seventeen.)

As if on cue, Steve's cell phone pinged with a text from Sam.

Sam Wilson, Oct 19, 10:15 PM: _Hey man, you doing ok? Sent request to admins to remove Brock from ND. He lives at the HYDRA frathouse now, right? What a dick._

 _Yeah, he moved there as far as I know_ ,  Steve responded. _I'm fine. Thanks for checking in, I appreciate it._

Sam Wilson, Oct 19, 10:17 PM: _No problem, man. You gonna be all right tonight?_

 _I'll be ok_ , Steve answered.

Sam Wilson, Oct 19, 10:19 PM: _Ok, man. Riley and I are hanging out and playing Halo if you wanna join? We got a stack of sandwiches and burgers from the McD's dollar menu and some other snacks._

Steve almost said no—Halo wasn't exactly his thing—but there was still so much anger running through his veins that running around to shoot and punch aliens sounded like a great idea. He could pretend that each alien had Brock Rumlow's ugly face.

 _I'm in. On my way, see you soon_ , he replied after a moment.

Sam Wilson, Oct 19, 10:20 PM: _Great :D See you soon._

Steve grinned and pulled on his favorite brown leather jacket. He laced up his Converse, grabbed the small pack he always carried containing his rescue inhaler, hand sanitizer, a flashlight, and a first-aid kit, and then cautiously entered the stairwell at the end of the hall. On Friday night, there was no telling what he might encounter on the way down. In his two months of living at Shield, Steve had seen underwear, unpaired socks, stale gummy bears, Doritos, dirty band-aids, a brand-new unopened five-pack of women's underwear, a dog leash, and once, a half-eaten pizza slice right in the middle of the landing. Steve lived on the fourth floor now instead of the eighth, so the gauntlet of stairs was shorter now than it used to be, but he still remained wary.

Two used Ziploc bags and three random Cheez-its later, Steve was outside, breathing in the crisp fall air. He stopped to throw away the trash in the dorm dumpster, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and rubbed his hands with hand sanitizer as he walked two blocks to the ROTC dorm. Sam was waiting outside, dressed in a blue TU hoodie and loose jeans. He looked up from his phone and grinned as Steve approached.

"Steve!" He pulled Steve into a one-armed hug. "How you doing, man? You all unpacked?"

"Not yet," said Steve with a sigh. "I've been way too tired."

Sam laughed. "Don't worry, man, it'll happen when it happens. Come on up."

The path to Sam's room on the 7th floor was familiar. Sam unlocked and opened the door, revealing an Xbox 360 console, the Halo menu screen, two lofted beds, and a stocky brunette guy sitting on a futon eating a cheeseburger. "Riley! Look who's here!"

Riley hastily swallowed his burger. "Hey, Steve," he said, his soft Southern drawl more pronounced than usual. He balled up his burger wrapper and threw it in the trash, grinning when his shot landed perfectly, and then he scooted over on the futon. "Come sit. We've been playing play co-op on Halo 3—fighting off the aliens as a team, instead of shooting each other. Old game, but still classic. We have an N64 too…can't really afford current-gen stuff."

"Not a big deal," said Steve. "I don’t even own a console myself. Thanks for inviting me."

"The more the merrier," Riley grinned.

The game went as usual until Steve punched his first alien in the head. Instead of the usual grunts and groans, the alien's head exploded with colorful confetti, and a loud cheering emitted from the speakers. Steve's jaw dropped open, and Sam burst out laughing from where he'd been watching them from his bed. "Your—your face, Steve—"

"What the hell?"

"It's the—it's the grunt birthday party skull," Sam said, gasping for air. "Or what we call 'party mode.'"

"We've been playing it all night," Riley added, grinning broadly. "You like it?" His brow furrowed. "I mean, we can switch it back to vanilla if you want. Or turn on the skull that makes ammo scarce..."

Steve punched another alien, letting the cheering wash over him. "You know what? I kind of like it."

They played Halo for a few hours, then switched to Mario Kart on the N64, where Steve proceeded to fall off the Rainbow Road in the first ten seconds, no matter how many races they started. Sam squinted at Steve suspiciously. "Man. If you ever get a car, I am not letting you take me anywhere until you prove you can stay within the lane lines."

"I can drive, I just can't virtually drive," Steve protested, even though his driver's education had actually been pretty spotty. There wasn't much of a need to drive where he lived—he had always just walked or taken public transportation everywhere—and there hadn't been a lot of room to practice. Steve had barely scraped by the driving test in New York when he was sixteen, but he'd done the Driver's Education course to get the senior license, which didn’t expire for another two years when he turned 21. He wasn't planning to drive anywhere until then anyway. The DC subway system wasn't as expansive as New York's, but it worked well enough for Steve's purposes.

Sam should understand. He grew up in New York too.

Steve sat back and unwrapped a burger, watching Riley and Sam grow increasingly competitive as he sated his hunger with food he knew he'd regret eating later. Sam gave him a narrow side-eyed glare, and Steve grinned innocuously at him. "It tastes great," Steve said, enthusiastically chomping down on another piece of beef jerky. "Mmmm."

Sam sighed. "If I gotta call my mom in the middle of the night again because you sound like you’re dying from acid reflux, she might murder us both," he warned.

"I’ll leave before it comes to that," Steve said. "You won’t even know if it happens. I can suffer alone."

"That’s—that’s not—" Sam shook his head, then pointed at Steve. "Stop that. The rule still stands even though we don’t live together anymore. You need anything, you let me and my mom know."

Steve flushed. "Thanks, Sam."

It was 2 AM by the time Steve stumbled back into his own apartment. The blank white walls pressed in on him, almost menacing in the harsh fluorescent light. Steve shuddered and switched off the overhead light, then went to the bathroom to clean himself up. He felt his way back through the dark to the main room, plopped on his bed, and tucked himself under the covers, gently brushing his fingers across the frame on the windowsill.

"Good night, Ma," he whispered. "Hope you're doing well up there. I miss you, and I hope I'm doing you proud.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
>   * Mention of parental death: Steve recalls grieving for his mother after she passes away from cancer. There is not a graphic description of her illness.
>   * Verbal and emotional abuse: Steve recalls receiving verbal abuse from his ex-roommate Brock Rumlow, who uses ableist, homophobic, and gendered slurs to insult him.
> 

> 
> References:
> 
>   * NextDorm is based off of [NextDoor.com](https://nextdoor.com/), a neighborhood social media site which also serves an excellent source of entertainment.
>   * The [Grunt Birthday Party Skull Mode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtEljxur6eI) is a bonus feature/Easter egg in Halo. When activated, the mode causes the lowest-level alien minions to explode into confetti with a happy cheering noise when they get shot in the head.
> 



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes to work at Carter's Cafe and one of the customers stands out. Featuring art by walkingstardust.

Steve awoke at 12:45 the next day, fifteen minutes before the start of his shift.

"Shit," he muttered.

He wrangled himself out of bed, jumped in and out of the shower, ran a toothbrush through his teeth, and slapped on his uniform, quickly finger-combing his hair as he stuffed a granola bar into his mouth and swigged a glass of water. After hurriedly tying the laces of his Converses, he grabbed his bag and his phone and rushed out of the building, hoping like hell he wouldn't have an asthma attack as he raced two blocks to the bus stop.

Steve spotted the bus pulling away from the curb when he was half a block away. "Wait, wait!" he called frantically, waving his hands. The bus screeched to a halt, and Steve quickly thanked the driver as he fumbled to put in his cash. There was one seat open, and Steve stumbled into it, panting as he sat down next to a man with long brown hair and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. The man tensed and looked away toward the window as Steve settled into the seat. When the bus jolted forward, the man let out a little gasp, and he spent the rest of the ride picking at a hole in his frayed jeans, clenching his right hand into a fist every time the bus hit a particularly large pothole. His left arm remained oddly immobile.

The man's shoulders tightened, but he didn't turn his head.

Steve frowned, watched the man for another minute, and then checked the time on his phone. If he was lucky, he'd make it to the café with a minute to spare.

He wasn't lucky.

"You're late," Peggy called over the counter.

"I know, I'm sorry," said Steve. He gave her a beseeching smile. "The bus was slow. I'm only late by…five minutes?"

Peggy raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him. "Eight minutes, Steve Rogers. Get yourself back here and get to work."

Carter's Café was a joint co-managed by Peggy Carter and her great-niece Sharon, who was in her final year at Triskelion University for a degree in business administration. Peggy was originally from England, and rumor had it that she used to work in some top-level position for MI6 before she retired and set up shop in the middle of a DC college campus. Steve could believe it. Even though Peggy was well into her sixties, at least, she had a way of being both intimidating and incredibly persuasive, to the point that people found themselves confessing secrets to her without even realizing that they were doing so.

The rest of Steve's shift passed smoothly, filled with the usual mix of couples, lone professors, and students celebrating the end of midterms with a round of sugary pumpkin-themed concoctions. Steve rang up each purchase with a polite smile as Sharon ran around behind him filling orders.

"Are you doing anything for Halloween next weekend?" she asked in a rare slow moment. Steve could barely hear her about the hissing of the steamer.

"Halloween?" Steve repeated dumbly.

"It's in ten days," she clarified. "I think Tony and Pepper are throwing some party next Friday in the Tower's common room – you know, the one that just got renovated? No alcohol, of course, per the rules, but costumes are allowed."

"Actually, costumes are encouraged," said Tony Stark himself, sweeping up to the counter with a flourish. "Hey. You're coming, right?" He tilted his head. "Hmm. I'm thinking…an angel? You've got that whole, pure, golden hair, golden heart, kind of thing going on."

"Are you referring to me or Sharon?" asked Steve.

"Um, both?" Tony said, scratching his head and yawning. "Can I get a triple-shot latte?"

"What size?"

"The largest you have," Tony said, with an emphatic nod. "Yes. The _biggest._ "

"Late night?"

Tony yawned again. "You have no idea."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, a twelve-ounce London Fog—that's for Pepper—and a twelve-ounce cappuccino for Rhodey," Tony responded. "I'm playing delivery person today. They're thank you gifts, I mean, sorta. I still say that Rhodey and Pepper are both _partially_ responsible for my current state. Who would ever think that such fine upstanding citizens would dare, or should I say, _encourage_ a game of late-night poker ending in –"

"Good afternoon, Tony," interrupted Peggy from the corner armchair, where she'd stationed herself with a pot of tea like a queen bee presiding over the hive.

Tony jumped and whirled around. "A-aunt Peggy! I, uh, I didn't see you there."

Peggy smirked. "It's good to see you too. Now what's this I hear about  _strip_ poker? That is where you were heading with that story, wasn't it?"

Tony's face turned as red as a tomato. "Ah…did I say that? I never actually said the word _strip_ , did I? No. Of course I didn't." He edged toward the pickup station and hastily placed his drinks into a cardboard holder, obviously trying to make a quick exit, but Peggy intercepted him with easy grace, linking her arm in his.

"Come, Tony, let's have a little chat while you help an old woman take a walk around the block."

Tony looked back at the counter nervously. Sharon smirked and gestured for him to go forth.

"I'll see you at the party. Both of you," Tony called, as Peggy led him through the side door. "Be there!"

The door swung shut, and a few customers relaxed in relief as the room quieted again.

"So, you're going as an angel, right?" asked Sharon with laughter in her voice.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the farthest thing from an angel," said Steve. "I mean, I've got scoliosis and asthma, I'm all thin, and my joints are kinda knobbly...I'm pretty sure I resemble a gremlin more than anything else."

Sharon frowned. "Steve, is that really how you see yourself?"

"There's nothing wrong with gremlins," he countered weakly. He quickly pasted on a polite smile as a customer approached the counter. Steve did a double-take as he noted that it was the same man from the bus. He'd taken off his baseball cap, revealing a slightly matted head of long brown hair, and he was frowning at the scones in the display case like they'd personally offended him.

"What can I get you?" asked Steve.

The man's eyes flickered upward. Steve caught a glimpse of bright, shocking blue before the man returned to staring at the display case.

"The pumpkin bread is on sale," Steve said. "Weekend October special. And here's a drinks menu if you want to study it more closely." He took a laminated menu from the holder on the counter and pushed it toward the man.

The man jumped back a little.

"Sorry," said Steve quickly. "Take your time."

The man's cheeks flushed. He slowly took a step forward and pointed at the "decaf coffee" option listed on the far right side.

"Okay, a decaf coffee. Do you know what size?"

The man bit his lip and shrugged.

"How about we start you off with a small," said Steve, and the man nodded. "Okay. One small decaf, coming right up. Do you want anything to eat with that?"

The man's eyes flickered to the pumpkin bread.

"One slice of pumpkin bread?" Steve guessed.

The man nodded.

"Okay. One small decaf, one small slice of pumpkin bread. Should be out in just a minute." He didn't bother asking for the man's name, ringing up the order with "unknown" instead. The man pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket, dumped his change into the tip jar, then plastered himself to the wall near the pickup station, staring at the ground. Steve briefly wondered if he was homeless, then discarded the thought immediately: it was none of his business. The man had paid, and that was all that mattered.

"I'll get this one," he whispered to Sharon as she capped the man's decaf order. He pulled the pumpkin bread out of the oven and slipped it into a paper sleeve.

Sharon shrugged and moved aside. "Suit yourself."

"Pumpkin bread and decaf coffee," Steve called quietly.

The man blinked, looked up again, and then snaked his right hand out of his jacket to grab the pumpkin bread. He stuffed it into his pocket before using the same hand to carefully pick up the small coffee. Then he pushed open the side door and exited onto the street.

"Who was that?" asked Sharon, watching the man turn this way and that before picking a direction to walk. "Do you know him?"

"No, I just sat next to him on the bus," said Steve. "He was having a rough time."

"Haven't seen him around here before," said Sharon. "Must be new to the area."

"Yeah."

It was dark by the time Steve's shift ended. Steve untied his apron, hung it up in the backroom, and then made his way around the corner to Asgard Pizza. The rainbow logo glowed brightly in the small gravel lot, beckoning to tired, drunk, and hungry college students at all hours of the night. Steve eyed the weathered brick exterior as he approached the door. It looked like it'd just received another graffiti-cleansing pressure wash.

Asgard Pizza was a study in contradictions. The exterior wasn't much to look at, but the interior was akin to a fancy Italian restaurant, with dark wood floors, velvety red booths, and diffuse lighting. The only thing that gave it away was the clientele: instead of businessmen in suits and polished wingtips shaking hands over wine, college students in hoodies and sneakers sat hunched over laptops or tablets, stuffing pizza into their mouths. Steve's stomach growled at the delicious smell of melted cheese, and he shook his head sadly as he recalled the last time he'd eaten cheese without any preparation from lactase pills. It had not gone well.

"Table for one?"

Steve shook himself out of his thoughts, staring up at the tall, extremely buff man with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Uh," said Steve, blinking slowly.

The man paused. "Or did you want to order something to go?"

"You're Thor," said Steve dumbly.

Thor grinned and pointed at a crooked nametag resting against a very impressive pec. "That's me. Table for one, then?" He grabbed a menu and led Steve to a small corner booth. "I'll be right back with some water."

Steve stared at Thor's retreating back. Asgard Pizza belonged to the Odinsons, a wealthy family that had no good reason to run a college pizza joint besides pure amusement. No one had seen head or tail of any Odinson children for two years after Loki, the youngest Odinson child, had accidentally blown up part of TU's stadium during the spring commencement ceremony in a prank gone wrong. Middle child Thor, who graduated at that same ceremony, had followed his girlfriend Jane Foster to Albuquerque, where he spent his time Instagramming himself eating a variety of breakfast foods while she pursued a PhD in astrophysics. Loki, meanwhile, had disappeared altogether, although sometimes the oldest Odinson child Hela posted cryptic messages on Instagram hinting that Loki was visiting her and her friends wherever she lived on the west coast.

"Something on my face?" Thor joked as he set down a glass of water on the table.

"Ah…no," said Steve.

Thor rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Yeah, you're right. I think I'm good. What'll you have today?"

"A salad with grilled chicken. No cheese, no peppers," Steve replied on autopilot. He promptly felt like an idiot, because that was exactly what he ordered for delivery last night, and he still had leftovers sitting in his fridge.

"Hey, sorry, wait a sec," he said, as Thor made to turn around. "I actually – could I speak to your manager?"

Thor's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Sure. Is something wrong?"

"No," said Steve hastily. "I just had a question."

"I'll get him," said Thor, giving Steve a suspicious look.

Steve dropped his head in his hands, trying to stave off the awkwardness radiating from his pores as he focused on the reason he came here in the first place.

"Can I help you, sir? Thor said you wanted to speak to the manager."

Steve looked up to see a tall black man with an impressive beard staring down at him. His name tag said Heimdall.

"Uh," said Steve, his mouth dry. Heimdall was extremely handsome, even through his frown. Did Asgard Pizza have some clause saying their employees had to be male models on the side? Steve had never noticed the other employees' appearance before, but he usually only ordered delivery, since Asgard Pizza was just far enough away to be an inconvenient walk. Maybe the shock of meeting Thor was just getting the better of him. Steve had seen Thor's Instagram, of course – there probably wasn't a single student at the university who hadn't – but meeting him in person was a different story altogether.

"Sir?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. I got a pizza from here delivered to me yesterday. Through UberEats. But, it's not my pizza. So I wanted to make sure that…that the person gets their pizza?" He fumbled with his phone, pulling up the picture of the receipt. "Look, I have a photo. Pan-size Veggie Valkyrie pizza, delivery for James B."

"And you're not James," said Heimdall slowly.

Steve shook his head and showed Heimdall his ID. "Steve Rogers. I don't think it's fair for him to get charged for something he didn't receive. If he didn't call in already for a refund, maybe I could order another pizza and have it delivered to him?"

Heimdall's brow furrowed. "This is a very noble sentiment, Mr. Rogers, but we don't deliver pizzas to customers unless they place the order themselves. It's possible that this…James…might not even be home right now."

"Oh. Right."

Heimdall gave him a sympathetic smile. "I will check and see if he's asked for a refund and double-check the status of his delivery, but to protect James' privacy, I can't tell you any more information beyond this point."

"Okay. I understand." Steve wasn't sure what he had expected from talking to the restaurant about the pizza, but he found himself trying not to let disappointment seep into his voice. "Thank you."

Heimdall's smile grew warmer. "Thank you for telling us, Mr. Rogers. You've done a good thing. Thor will be back shortly with your order."

Steve nodded and watched Heimdall disappear into the kitchen.

"Everything all right? I hope it wasn't a complaint about me," Thor joked a minute later, as he placed Steve's salad on the table. "Not that that's any of my business. Or that I would do anything to your food in revenge. That would be unsanitary."

"I bet Loki would, though," Steve said before he could stop himself, and then he quickly backtracked as Thor's face grew thunderous. "Sorry. Not that that's any of my business, either."

"You're right, it's not," muttered Thor, and his expression smoothed out into a grin. "No harm done. Do you need anything else?"

Steve glanced at the salad in front of him. He didn't have much of an appetite anymore, and his anxiety was only increasing the longer he sat in the restaurant. "Maybe the check," he finally answered. "And a to-go box. I really am sorry for my comment about Loki."

"Don't worry, I'm used to it," said Thor with a shrug. "I've been dealing with Loki and his questionable actions my whole life. He's still my brother, though, so I've got to defend him, even when he doesn't deserve it."

Steve nodded, even though he knew he didn't really understand. He was an only child. For years, it had been him and his ma against the world, fighting poverty, discrimination, and chronic illnesses, and having a loving, supportive mother wasn't anything like having a sibling (or two, in Thor's case) who constantly tried to screw with you. Steve opened his mouth, almost asking if Loki was the reason Thor was back in town, but he caught himself at the last minute. Fortunately, Thor had already moved to the next table while Steve wasn't paying attention.

Steve made it out of the restaurant and back to the apartment without any more mishaps. He shoved his salad into the fridge next to its day-old twin and flopped onto his bed with a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands as if that could get rid of the negative feelings that had dominated his day. It didn't work, so he blindly reached for his phone instead, scrolling mindlessly past photos of classmates and friends who were happily enjoying their weekend. Sam and Riley had gone on some camping trip with their ROTC unit in rural Virginia; Tony Stark and Pepper Potts were trying out the new French restaurant that had just opened downtown; his and Sam's old resident advisor Maria Hill was at the gym with Melinda May, volunteer-teaching a self-defense class to a group of freshman girls…the list went on and on.

Steve kept scrolling, trying to keep his loneliness at bay even as the big black hole of sadness in his heart grew bigger. He finally threw his phone to the side, debating between going to sleep—it was 9:00—or staying up a couple of hours to work on his self-portrait assignment.

 _Ping!_ Steve's phone blinked with a new notification, startling him out of his stupor.

 ** _NextDorm:_** _Natasha Romanoff (Shield)_ _sent you a private message._

Sat Oct 20 – 5:22 PM  

> Steve,
> 
> I'm sorry I didn't contact you earlier. I'm pretty sure the pizza belongs to my friend James Barnes. He lives off campus, so he's not on NextDorm, but I'm sure he would appreciate getting the pizza even after a day's delay. He only ate cereal for dinner last night.
> 
> I'm out of town for an intramurals retreat and won't be back till tomorrow night, but I'll go ahead and text James to let him that you have his food and that you'll be coming by tomorrow. What's a good time for you to drop it off? I'll let him know.
> 
> Here is his address:
> 
> James Barnes  
>  University Gardens Apartments  
>  1917 Bucharest Ave,  #107  
>  Washington, DC 20016

Steve grinned widely, all the negativity from the day disappearing in an instant. He couldn't believe it – the pizza mystery was finally getting solved. He should've asked for Natasha's help earlier. She was a well-known expert in "stalking" people through social media and getting them to tell her their secrets. Steve was half-convinced that Peggy was giving her private lessons in espionage.

Steve quickly checked his calendar and opened up the NextDorm app, thanking Natasha and setting a time to deliver the pizza. He had just sent the message when another private message came in.

-

 **_NextDorm:_ ** _Clint Barton (Shield) sent you a private message_

Sat Oct 20 – 5:35 PM 

> Hey Steve in case you needed extra confirmation, Nat's not playing a prank, the pizza does belong to James. He's a nice guy, don't let the grumpy face scare you off. If he doesn't want the pizza I'm still open to the opp

**_-_ **

**_NextDorm:_ ** _Natasha Romanoff (Shield) sent you a private message._

Sat Oct 20 – 5:38 PM 

> Ignore Clint. Give the pizza to James. Tomorrow at 1 PM will work; he'll be available. If he doesn't answer right away, just wait a few minutes. He's a little slow to get to the door sometimes, especially if he's been sleeping.

Steve sent Natasha another message of thanks and wished her good night. Energized by the sudden turn in events, he booted up his laptop, connected his tablet, and pulled open his self-portrait file, filling in the rest of the outline with a surprising burst of speed. When he finished, a juxtaposition of expressions stared back at him: the original half of the portrait—the left side—had a downturned mouth and an eye that looked blankly back at the viewer, while the second half had a wide grin and a manic light in the eye that reflected Steve's current mood.

Steve's heart sank. There was no way this could possibly fulfill the requirements of the assignment, which were to draw a realistic, still-life portrait akin to the presidential ones in the National Portrait Gallery. Steve had struggled to even start the assignment; even without Brock Rumlow slowly chipping away at his self-esteem, he would never be able to envision himself as President no matter how passionately he wanted to enact change. He hovered his mouse over the delete button, staring at his own face's version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and was gripped with a sudden impulse to save the drawing instead. Steve renamed the file from "Pres Portrait SGR v1.0" to "fucked up self portrait SGR," then closed the program and turned off his computer before he could think about it any longer. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he flopped onto his bed, staring into the darkness until sleep overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> 
> 
>   * [The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strange_Case_of_Dr_Jekyll_and_Mr_Hyde) is a gothic novella by Robert Louis Stevenson about a doctor (Dr. Jekyll) with an alternate personality (Mr. Hyde) who murders people. The cover art often depicts a man whose face is split in two: one side looks respectable and the other looks monstrous. 
>   * Steve's art assignment is to make a self-portrait that could supposedly fit as a [presidential portrait at the National Portrait Gallery at the Smithsonian](https://npg.si.edu/portraits/collection-highlights/presidential-portraits).
> 



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally delivers his pizza. Things don't exactly go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see warnings in the end notes. The warnings contain spoilers.

Steve woke early the next morning, thrumming with a mix of anxiety and excitement. He channeled his nervous energy into finally doing the dishes, and then he tore open his boxes and began to decorate the apartment.

Posters of his favorite animations (Miyazaki, Pixar, classic Disney) and went up in the living room-kitchenette space, adding color to the bare white walls. After a bit of assembling, a tall lamp stood in the corner opposite the desk, where Steve's laptop and tablet sat alongside a few textbooks and pencils. Steve also pulled out his inflatable bean bag chair, a Black Friday special he'd nabbed last year and hidden from Rumlow two days into living together. He filled it using the air pump and set it up against the wall adjacent to the lamp. Finally, he unfolded a rickety stand, just stable and wide enough for a single mug, and put it next to the chair.

Steve smiled as he switched off the fluorescent overhead light and turned on the lamp, flooding the room with warm, diffuse light that bounced pleasingly off the colorful posters and reflected off the small window near the desk. He had enough time for a quick lunch – one of his two grilled chicken salads from Asgard – and then it would be time to go and meet James. Steve was excited to get rid of the pizza, but more than that, he was excited to meet a potential new friend.

Steve hopped onto the bus around 12:30 and watched various university buildings pass by until the bus reached the very edges of campus. He stepped onto the sidewalk and checked his phone for directions, then began picking his way through the side streets. This wasn't an area of campus he visited often. It had a few great hole-in-the-wall restaurants, most of which served delivery orders to hungry students, but otherwise it was mostly populated by boxy research facilities and large parking lots dotted with stray cars.

The University Gardens apartment complex was a squat brick building with small windows and a peeling, cursive nameplate. It looked like it could have been nice at one point, but it was no longer very well maintained. The exterior of the building was covered with dirt and moss. Cigarette butts littered the tiny patch of grass surrounding the front steps. A bright cardboard sign on wooden posts advertised "MOVE-IN SPECIALS! ONE FREE MONTH OF RENT!" but the specials were dated for August, and it was already October.  

Steve marched up to the front door and peered at the call box hidden in the alcove. Half of the numbers had messy Sharpie labels with the surname of the resident, but the other half didn't. Number 107 was blank. Steve bit his lip, gripped the pizza more closely against his chest, and then pressed the buzzer.

For thirty seconds, there was no noise, and then a loud, staticky crackle blew forth from the box. Steve jumped.

"Uh. Hello?" he called.

The static continued. Someone was clearly on the other line, but they weren't answering.

"I'm looking for James Barnes," Steve tried.

"Who is this?" a gruff voice asked.

"Uh, Steve. Steve Rogers. I've got your pizza from Friday night. Natasha said she'd tell you I was coming –" Steve jumped a little as the door clicked. He grasped the metal door, grunting a little at the weight. "Oh. Thanks. Was that you?"

The call box was silent.

Steve frowned and pushed open the door. He went past a shadowy alcove hosting numbered metal mailboxes and pushed through another metal door, then found himself staring down a dimly lit, carpeted hallway lined with wooden doors.

"I really hope I don't get murdered," he muttered to himself.

The doors—odd numbers on the left side, and even numbers on the right side—started at 121 on the left and descended as Steve continued down. 107 was right at the corner next to a stairwell. Steve took a deep breath and knocked.

There was no answer for a full minute.

Steve knocked again.

Another minute passed.

Steve frowned. He had just taken a few steps back down the hallway when the door behind him creaked open to reveal…nobody. Steve warily eyed the threshold, but he didn't move closer.

"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing weirdly in the muted space.

"Hello?" a rough voice said from within the apartment. "You the guy with the pizza?"

"Uh, yeah?" Steve answered. "Are you James Barnes?"

A man poked his head out the door. In the dim light, Steve could make out the outline of a stubbled face, shadowed eyes, and limp, chin-length hair that needed a good wash. He looked familiar, and it took a moment for Steve to figure out why.

"You're the guy from the coffee shop," said Steve in surprise. "And the bus yesterday."

The man narrowed his eyes at him.

"I'm Steve. I served you the um…pumpkin bread on discount, and the decaf coffee, at Carter's Café yesterday. Because I, uh, I work there." When the man didn't say anything, Steve said nervously, "Um, you are James Barnes, right? I'm talking to the right person?"

"Yeah," James muttered.

"It's nice to officially meet you. Here, this belongs to you." Steve thrust the pizza at James, who jumped back like Steve had just pulled a gun on him.  "Oh. Sorry." Steve stepped back guiltily, remembering James' skittish reactions at the cafe. "I didn't mean to startle you."

James grunted, reached out his right hand, and pulled the pizza out of Steve's grasp. Then he promptly closed the door.

"Um, you're welcome," Steve muttered, staring at the cracked wood. "Rude."

He trudged back down the hallway, previous excitement turning into something dark and ugly inside him. What was James' problem?

 _There's not a problem with him, there's one with you. Of course he shut the door. Why would anyone want to be your friend?_ The nasty, needling voice sounded suspiciously like Rumlow's.

 _Shut up,_ said another voice sounded like Sam's. _You have friends. You have people who care._

 _Do you?_ the Rumlow-voice countered.

Steve huffed, trying to shake off the sudden assault of self-doubt. He couldn't think like that. His mother had always called him her "sunshine boy," had told him he was beautiful inside and out, and he had taken it to heart, using her love as a battering ram against a lifetime of bullying. Why had that message stopped resonating?

 _Because she's gone_ , said another voice, and this one sounded like his own. Fresh grief welled up inside Steve. _She's gone, and you can never go home._

Steve paused in the shadowy mailbox alcove, his breaths shaky as he tried to regain control of himself. It was true. Steve had spent winter break with Sam in Harlem last year, but they'd kept him busy enough that he hadn't stepped foot inside Brooklyn. When Sam had invited Steve to stay with him, his mother, and his two younger sisters during the summer after freshman year, Steve had declined. He'd already agreed to work full-time at Carter's Cafe in exchange for staying in the little apartment above it and receiving his normal part-time salary, but more than that, he didn't want to return to New York for an extended period of time and find out how much everything had changed.

"What are you still doing here?"

Steve jumped and turned around to face James, who was slouching against the wall with his hands stuck in the pockets of the same ratty hoodie he'd worn yesterday.

"Oh," said Steve, "Sorry. I—I got lost in thought."

James frowned as he examined Steve's face. "You've been crying."

"What?" Steve said, hastily wiping his face dry. "No, I haven't."

"Are you okay?" James prodded.

"I'm fine," Steve said, clearing his throat.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm _fine_ ," Steve snapped.

James flinched and he took a step back, hunching his shoulders.

"Sorry," Steve muttered. "Sorry, I—I'd better get going." He pushed through the front door without glancing back. The streets passed by in a blur as guilt and embarrassment churned inside of him.

He was waiting at the bus stop when his phone buzzed with a notification.

_**NextDorm:** Natasha Romanoff (Shield) sent you a private message. _

Sun Oct 21 - 2:05 PM 

> I hear you delivered the pizza. James says he is sorry he forgot to say thank you, but he is grateful.
> 
> He also says he feels bad for being rude to you and wants you to know he's also sorry for that. I don't know what he's referring to, but I thought I'd let you know.

Steve's fingers hovered over his phone keyboard as he tried to think of a response.

 _It's okay_ , he typed hesitantly, but then he deleted it.

 _It wasn't that bad_. Delete.

 _Is he okay?_ Delete.

 _What's his issue?_ Definitely delete.

Finally, he typed:

_**NextDorm** : send private message to Natasha Romanoff (Shield) _

Sun Oct 22 - 2:08 PM

> I was rude too, and I'm also sorry. Please let him know that I accept his apology.

Natasha responded a minute later.

_**NextDorm:** Natasha Romanoff (Shield) sent you a private message._

Sun Oct 21 - 2:10 PM

> Noted. He says he accepts your apology too.

* * *

Steve thought that delivering the pizza would be the last time he ever thought about James Barnes, but a few hours later, halfway into redoing his self-portrait, he found himself typing "James Barnes" into the search bar on his phone browser and on several social media sites.

Several James Barneses were listed on Facebook, but none of the profile photos had the face of the man he'd just met, and none were listed as part of the TU or DC networks. Instagram was no better: there was a James S. Barnes who appeared to be obsessed with posting gym selfies, which Steve spent way too much time appreciating, but he eventually forced himself to stop looking and go back to his original search. Twitter, as usual, was a cesspool, and Steve only spent five minutes reading comments and raising his blood pressure before he hastily exited the app. Steve had no luck on LinkedIn, Snapchat, Pinterest, or any other social network on which he had an account. James Barnes wasn't even listed in the internal TU student directory.

He had just about given up when he spotted something in the middle of the fourth search results page:

JAMES BARNES vs. UPSILON ETA CHAPTER OF DELTA RHO ALPHA

Steve stared. Delta Rho Alpha was HYDRA's Greek fraternity name. In fact, Upsilon Eta was the actual chapter at TU.

Steve tapped the link and continued reading.

> James Barnes v. Upsilon Eta Chapter of Delta Rho Alpha, Inc
> 
> Plaintiff: James Buchanan Barnes  
>  Defendant: Upsilon Eta Chapter of Delta Rho Alpha
> 
> Case Number: 1:2016cv32557038  
>  Filed: November 13, 2016  
>  Court: Superior Court of DC  
>  Nature of Suit: Personal Injury
> 
> Plaintiff's Complaint for Damages for:
> 
>   * Negligence
>   * Assault
>   * Battery
>   * Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress
> 

> 
> Jury Trial Demanded
> 
> **Access additional case information on LegalSearch! Create an account or log in now.**

Steve stared at the text with wide eyes, opened a new tab on his browser, then began to search again.

 _James Buchanan Barnes_. A WhitePages entry listing an address in the Bay Ridge neighborhood of Brooklyn. Also, several pages about the 15th U.S. President James Buchanan, along with an article speculating wither President Buchanan was the first gay U.S. president. Steve made a mental note to read it later.

 _James Buchanan Barnes lawsuit_. Only the same WhitePages entry, along with several pages about the Dred Scott decision, which President James Buchanan endorsed, and several articles about how he was the worst U.S. president ever.

 _James Buchanan Barnes lawsuit Delta Rho Alpha._ No new results.

 _James Buchanan Barnes HYDRA._ No new results.

 _James Buchanan Barnes lawsuit HYDRA._ No new results.

 _James Buchanan Barnes_ _Brooklyn_. No new results.

 _James Buchanan Barnes Brooklyn Triskelion University_. A PDF of an old newsletter from St. John's School - a private school located in Brooklyn - came up. There was a photo of the same James Barnes that Steve had met. He was younger, wearing a high school graduation gown, standing at an outdoor podium and smiling broadly at the camera. Steve's eyes shifted to the paragraph below it:

> May 15, 2016
> 
> Valedictorian James Buchanan Barnes gives his graduation speech at St. John's Paul Lovett Field. Barnes has been an outstanding athlete, student, and peer mentor throughout his time at St. John's. He received a full ride through the Hank Pym Engineering Scholarship to Triskelion University in Washington, DC, where he will be joining the Honors Program this fall.

Steve stared at the photo of James again, then went back to the tab containing the information about the lawsuit. He blew out a breath through his teeth as he pieced together a timeline in his head.

James must have started at TU in August 2016, a year before Steve. Something had happened to him involving HYDRA just a few months later - something so serious he'd decided to bring a lawsuit against the fraternity. There was no information on how the lawsuit had proceeded and what had happened to him afterward. He was still in the area instead of back in Brooklyn—but he wasn't a student at TU, since he wasn't listed in the directory.

"What's your story, James Barnes?" Steve asked, and his eyes drifted to the NextDorm app icon. Did he dare ask Natasha? While she was renowned for finding information about people, asking her to do so always came with a price. Besides, James was her friend. It would be disrespectful for Steve to ask her information about him, especially when he could and should just ask James himself. That is, if he ever saw James again, which was unlikely.

"I should let this go," Steve told himself. He reluctantly closed the tabs, but his curiosity didn't abate. He stood up and stretched, then paced around restlessly, struck with the urge to find out more. A very petty, very vengeful part of him really wanted to dig up dirt on HYDRA, of course, since Rumlow was a member of the fraternity. But another part of him—the part that had gotten him into fights with bullies throughout his entire childhood, that had earned him a recommendation letter describing his outstanding moral character from his high school chemistry teacher, Dr. Abraham Erskine—wanted to see James get justice for whatever HYDRA had done to him.

Steve knew he shouldn't be so quick to judge. Even HYDRA was innocent until proven guilty, and Steve had no way of knowing what had happened. But it was hard to let go of his gut feeling that HYDRA had been in the wrong. The few members Steve had met in passing when living with Rumlow had always exhibited the same hyperaggressive masculinity and self-righteous entitlement that had made Rumlow the roommate from hell. Not only that, but at TU, HYDRA was also known as the "Oops!" fraternity—both a reference to their chapter name, Eta Upsilon, and to the many allegations that HYDRA frat brothers often coerced girls into having unprotected sex, leading to several hush-hush pregnancies, emergency terminations, and medical withdrawals within the student population. So far no one had successfully pressed charges against the fraternity, but Steve kept hoping that it would only be a matter of time.

_Ping! Ping! Ping! PING! PING!_

Steve blinked as his phone began to chime with a rapid succession of text messages.

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:40 PM: _Hey can u cover the night shift at the cafe tonight_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:40 PM: _Aunt Peg had a fall_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:41 PM: _Taking her to hospital_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:42 PM: _Bruce Banner will also be working. He is a new hire, grad student, will need some training_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:43 PM: _I trust you_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:44 PM: _gtg, ambulance here_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:44 PM: _Will keep you posted_

Steve's heart dropped. He pulled on his uniform shirt and rushed out the door, nearly triggering an asthma attack as he rushed to the bus stop. _I'm on my way to the cafe, I've got it covered, please let me know how she's doing_ , he typed quickly, his fingers flying across the screen.  _I hope she has a safe and quick recovery._

_Ping._

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:46 PM: _Thanks Steve, I will_

Sharon Carter, Oct 21, 5:47 PM: _we're going to the ER at GWU hospital, you can stay in the apt above the cafe if you need_

 _Ok_ , Steve responded, speed-walking to the cafe from the bus stop. He shoved his phone into his pocket, and made a beeline for the counter, where an unfamiliar man with glasses and frizzy hair was standing. He was wearing a cafe uniform shirt, but he looked completely lost.

"Hey, you must be Bruce," said Steve, his thoughts going a mile a minute. He took a deep breath and pasted on his best customer service smile. "I'm Steve."

"I was looking for...Sharon?" said Bruce, scratching his head and smiling nervously, and then his eyes darted to his pocket. "Oh. My phone—do you mind? It might be her."

"Sure, go ahead," said Steve, distractedly. "I'll get us set up."

Bruce came back half a minute later, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry, I didn't realize Sharon had sent you over to train me because of her family emergency."

"It's not a problem," said Steve. "Here, let me show you the back office. We keep our phones and wallets there during our shift so they don't get swiped from the counter."

The Sunday night shift was slow, fortunately, giving Steve plenty of time to train Bruce on how to work in the cafe. They chatted throughout, and Steve felt himself relax at Bruce's easygoing nature despite his underlying anxiety about Peggy's emergency hospital visit. It turned out that Bruce was a graduate student working for the nuclear engineering department. He had gotten his undergraduate degree at Harvard and had just started his PhD program in nuclear physics at TU this fall, where he was working in Dr. Erik Selvig's lab. His girlfriend Betty Ross, who he had met at Harvard, lived an hour away. She was pursuing a PhD in cellular biology at Culver University.

"What made you decide to work for Carter's Café?" Steve asked curiously. "You sound like you've got your hands full with just...getting a PhD."

"Well, being a PhD student doesn't pay well," Bruce answered, grimacing. "I mean, I've got a fellowship, so I've got enough to survive, but it'd be nice to have a little extra income." He hesitated and leaned in close, whispering, "Also, I'm hoping to save up for an engagement ring."

"Wow! That's great," Steve said. "I mean, really. I'm happy for you."

Bruce grinned bashfully. "I'll have to see how much I can afford. The main obstacle is going to be Betty's father. He's a general in the U.S. Army and he's really protective of her. I don't think he likes me very much."

Steve frowned. "Well, she's not his possession, and he's got to accept that sooner or later," he said, already getting riled up at the bullshit patriarchal notion.

Bruce nodded. "I completely agree with you. And Betty does too. But—you know, it's her family, so…" He shrugged. "We have to play nice."

Steve's phone buzzed as he was locking the front door of the cafe. He glanced at Bruce, who was humming and wiping down the counter, and quickly checked the message. It was from Sharon.

Sharon Carter, Oct 22, 11:16 PM: _Everything's ok_ , _just some bruising, no fractures or breaks or anything_. _Thank goodness. Doc prescribed a cold compress and bedrest for at least 3 days till swelling is down. Taking her home now._

 _So glad to hear it,_ Steve responded, and he quickly relayed the news to Bruce, who nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. Steve typed, _Bruce did great, I think he's a keeper_.

Sharon Carter, Oct 22, 11:19 PM: _Great_

Sharon Carter, Oct 22, 11:21 PM: _Aunt Peggy's swearing she'll be back in the cafe by the end of the week._

 _If anyone can do it, Peggy can_ , _she's indestructible,_ Steve typed.

Sharon Carter, Oct 22, 11:25 PM: _She just called you a charmer_ ;-)

Steve chuckled, shaking out his shoulders as he let out a relieved sigh. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to Bruce. "All done?"

Bruce nodded. "We should be ready to go."

Steve quickly double checked that all the appliances were turned off and the cash register was locked, then he flipped off the overhead lights and pushed open the back door. He quietly showed Bruce the lock code, and they walked together out of the alley and onto the main well-lit street.

"Are you taking the bus?" asked Bruce.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, the stop's only a couple blocks away. It's not too far."

"Oh, well—I drove here, if you want a ride," Bruce offered.

Steve paused. The bus didn't come as often at night on weekends, so he would probably have to wait ten minutes for it to arrive, plus the actual 15-20 minutes of commute time back to his apartment. Bruce could probably get him there in half the time, and he didn't set off any of Steve's warning bells. He had have passed a basic background check (and likely a more thorough one than Steve could comprehend) for Peggy and Sharon to hire him. Still, Steve had just met the guy, and he felt bad imposing on him.

"I'm okay. Thanks for the offer, though," Steve said, shifting awkwardly.

Bruce shrugged. "Okay. If you ever want one, though, the offer still stands."

"Thanks," said Steve, a little bubble of warmth rising in his chest, "I appreciate it."

"Sure thing. Get home safe."

"You too."

Bruce turned and went in the opposite direction toward the large parking deck located at the corner. Steve sighed and dragged his feet down to the bus stop, pulling out his phone to occupy himself as he waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
>   * Implied/referenced rape, dubious consent - Steve recalls rumors of HYDRA coercing girls into having unprotected sex and getting abortions.
> 



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve attends a Halloween party and runs into someone unexpected. The night ends on a positive note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see warnings in the end notes. The warnings contain spoilers.

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Steve didn't have any more time to think about James Barnes, too busy rushing to the cafe between classes to cover for Sharon and staying up late to complete the new crop of assignments that had rolled in after midterms. He finally finished revising his self-portrait and submitted it on Friday afternoon before collapsing into bed to take a nap before the Tower's Halloween party.  

Friday night found Steve standing in front of a mirror, peering at his forehead as he adjusted his hair just right. "Please stay up," he muttered to his reflection, giving a few experimental shakes of his head. He didn't have quite the right haircut or color to match the picture on his phone, but he would be mad at himself if he didn't start off the night having it as close as possible.

_Ping._

Sam Wilson, Oct 26, 7:22 PM: _Hey man you ready? We're about to head out_. _See you soon._

 _Yeah, see you soon_ , Steve replied. He carefully slipped his phone into the inner pocket of his bright blue suit, examined the sparkly blue eyeliner and shiny lip gloss on his face, then turned and checked his side profile in the mirror. He'd chosen to dress as David Bowie tonight for the party, and he thought he had done a pretty good job. His borrowed suit was a little bit too loose on his shoulders and legs despite his best efforts at using last-minute hemming tape, but he did have a perfectly fitted white shirt and an almost-identical tie which he'd found at the thrift shop. Bowie had been one of his icons growing up and Steve hoped he was doing the man proud.

 

[ ](https://i.ibb.co/09tH4Zn/Steve-Bowie-costume.jpg)

_Ping._

Sam Wilson, Oct 26, 7:30 PM: _We're here_

Steve carefully patted himself down, making sure he had his emergency pack hidden in his inner pocket, and then he headed down the stairs.

Sam and Riley were waiting at the front entrance to the Shield dorm, dressed in glittery American flag shorts and vests, the latter of which looked more like inverted hospital gowns than actual clothing. They each had a pair of thick red boxing gloves strung over their shoulders. Riley waved, and Sam grinned, letting out a low whistle. "Nice suit! You do that makeup yourself?"

"Yeah," said Steve, glancing warily at Riley, who was studying Steve with a frown. Riley hadn't shown any signs of being a biased asshole, but maybe men wearing makeup was where he drew the line.

Riley snapped his fingers suddenly, his eyes lighting up. " _Life on Mars_!"

"...Yes?" Steve said.

Riley scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Man, I'm getting old, that took me way too long to figure that out," he complained, leading the way down the street. He pushed the button for the crosswalk, pulling his gaudy vest tightly around his bare chest in an effort to keep himself warm. "I was obsessed with David Bowie when I was a kid."

"When you were a kid," Sam scoffed. "Steve, this man has listened to Bowie non-stop for the last two weeks. He thinks I can't tell 'cause he's wearing headphones, but I can _hear_ him singing under his breath."

"You clearly haven't been listening to _Life On Mars_ , though," Steve joked hesitantly. "Or watching the music video."

Riley grinned. "Can't exactly watch YouTube when you're trying to cram, you know? But hey, man, you nailed it with the makeup. It's awesome."

"Thanks," said Steve, flushing a little.  "Who are you two supposed to be?"

"Rocky and Apollo," Sam said, gesturing proudly. He sighed at Steve's blank expression. "Rocky Balboa? Apollo Creed? Boxing rivals turned best friends?"

"Right," said Steve. "Still haven't gotten around to seeing that series. Sorry, Sam."

"One day, we're going to have that movie marathon we planned in freshman year," Sam sighed, shaking his head.

They wended their way through campus, passing little clusters of fellow costumed partygoers as they headed toward the Tower. Steve bit back a sigh as they got closer to the phallic metal beacon. The Tower had been built from an endowment from the Stark Foundation, and it shone taller and brighter than the rest of the buildings on campus, much like Tony Stark's renowned ego. Steve personally thought the building was extremely ugly, although he grudgingly admitted that it was architecturally impressive.

The security guard peered at them from the fancy wooden desk in the lobby as they looked through the door. "You here for the party?" he shouted.

"Yes," Sam shouted through the glass.

"You RSVP at least 30 minutes ago?"

"Yes."

"Okay, come on in. Get your student IDs ready," the security guard instructed. The door unlocked with a loud click.

The security guard was a beefy, curly-haired man whose name tag said "Happy." He carefully examined each of their IDs, and then he checked their names on the RSVP list. "You're all set," he said, handing Steve's ID back to him. "Go down the hall on the right till you hit the stairwell, then go down the stairs till you hit the door with the Halloween decorations. Party's inside. You can't miss it."

"Was that guy's name actually 'Happy,' or do you think Stark made him wear that name tag as a joke?" Steve muttered as they walked through the quiet, lushly carpeted hall. All the doors were closed and unlabeled. Steve wondered if these were people's rooms or just storage areas.

"You think Stark would be that mean?" asked Sam.

Riley shrugged. "I mean, he's kind of an asshole, but he's not that bad, right?"

A thumping beat characteristic of a loudspeaker greeted them when they were halfway down the stairs. "Guess we found it," said Steve, bracing himself as they got closer and closer to the basement door. It was decorated with orange wallpaper with a skull pattern, along with fake spiderwebs, fake furry tarantulas, and some disturbingly realistic stuffed bats. "You think there's a trap on this door?"

"Like what, a bucket of pig's blood? This isn't _Carrie_ ," Sam scoffed, but he was eyeing the door cautiously anyway.

"Maybe slime, like old-school Nickelodeon," Riley said, frowning. He bent down, peering closely at the door and running his finger along the edge.

"Stark may be an arrogant jerk sometimes, but he's not Loki," a dry voice said behind them. Sam and Riley jumped, and Steve barely stopped himself from doing the same. Natasha Romanoff raised an eyebrow at them as she emerged from the shadows, dressed in a Shakespearean-looking tunic and breeches with a red and black vest. She popped a feathered cap on her head and jerked her head toward the door. "Are you going in, or do you plan to stay out here all night?"

"Uh," said Sam, eyeing Natasha up and down in a clear show of interest. Natasha lifted her eyebrows, giving a Sam a once-over and smirking.

The corners of Riley's mouth turned down. "Let's go," he said quietly, opening the door.

The booming bass beat got exponentially louder as soon as Steve stepped inside the room, and he quickly found himself surrounded by a mob of people holding bright orange solo cups filled with dark red punch the color of blood. Natasha disappeared into the crowd, and Riley and Sam got ahead of Steve, cutting a path through the horde with their broad, patriotically glittering backs. Steve made to follow them, but Tony Stark appeared out of nowhere, waving his arms exuberantly and nearly hitting Steve in the face with a gold pocket watch swinging from between his fingers. He was clad in a somewhat battered three-piece suit, a long fitted overcoat, and a deer hunter hat.

"Rogers! You came!" he shouted loudly, making Steve wince. Tony's jaw dropped open, and he did a double-take. "Is that—is that Aunt Peggy's suit?"

"Um," said Steve, crossing his arms in front of his chest self-consciously, "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, no! You make an excellent Bowie!" Tony exclaimed. "I just never thought I'd see that being worn in my lifetime! I've only ever seen it in Dad's old photos. I didn't even know Aunt Peg still had it. Every time I try to ask her about that party, she says my ears are too young and sensitive to know the details."

"Trust me, Tony, you're better off not knowing," said Sharon dryly, sweeping in like a terrifyingly beautiful angel of vengeance. She was dressed in a flowing white, sparkling gown, and her hair fell in soft gold waves, but instead of the stereotypical white wings, large, tattered black wings sat against her shoulders, matching the black gloves covering her hands. "Hello, Steve." She spread out her hands, grinning as the wings stretched with them and nearly hit Tony in the face. "What do you think?"

"Impressive," said Steve dryly. "Truly. I wonder who could have possibly helped you with those."

Sharon hummed thoughtfully. "I don't know. Someone with access to an art studio, maybe…someone whose name starts with an 'S'..."

"Oooh! I know, I know!" Tony cried. "It's me! Sherlock!"

"Tony," Sharon sighed, shooting him a dirty look, "for someone so smart, you can be a real idiot sometimes."

"Hey! I resemble that remark."

"Thank you for your help, Steve, seriously," said Sharon, turning her attention back to Steve.  "And not just for the costume. Thank you for taking care of the cafe while Peggy's been out."

"How's her recovery been going?" asked Steve.

"Slower than she wants it to, but it's been steady," said Sharon, glancing at Tony, who was also listening intently. "I'll be going with her to a checkup tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes when we switch shifts."

"Thanks," said Steve.

Sharon nodded, pulling out her phone. "Come on. I promised Peggy I'd take a picture of you to show you'd done justice to the suit. Tony, no—stop that—"

Steve held still for what seemed like eternity, blinking at the bright flash that temporarily blinded his vision as he posed for picture after picture, a process that was not aided by Tony's increasingly ridiculous antics behind Steve's head. Finally, Sharon deemed the photo acceptable, and Steve made a beeline for the food table, now visible through a gap in the crowd, both to get away from Tony and to satisfy his growling stomach. He picked up a plate decorated with a skull pattern, filled it with the disappointingly limited selection of non-cheesy, non-dairy snacks, and then backed up into the corner with a sigh of relief.

"Oof!" Steve whirled around, horrified, an apology on his tongue for the person whose foot he had accidentally trod on. The words died on his lips as he stared up into the eyes of—"James? Barnes?"

James hunched further into the corner, cradling his solo cup like a cat guarding its newly caught prey. He was wearing a thin, partly unbuttoned white shirt, fitted skinny jeans, and a gold, patterned vest, and his body language and facial expression were screaming discomfort.

"Hey," said Steve. "You okay?"

James' eyes darted around. He didn't look okay. He was breathing a little too heavily, and his face was quickly becoming the color of his shirt.

Steve quickly surveyed the room. Clint, dressed in medieval clothes with his actual bow slung across his back, was facing off against Natasha in an extremely intense game of punch pong across an old wooden table. Tony was commentating for the surrounding crowd, and next to him, adding occasional rejoinders, was James Rhodes, dressed as John Watson to Tony's Sherlock. Riley and Sam were in the corner, wearing their boxing gloves and pretending to spar dramatically, with Sharon acting as commentator for another large audience. Steve briefly let himself experience the surreal sensation of four different time periods happening at once, and then he turned back to James. "Do you want to get some air?"

James stared at him with wide eyes. He starting to wheeze like he was about to have an asthma attack. Steve patted the rescue inhaler in the inner pocket of his suit coat and said quietly, "Hey, hey. James. It's okay. Breathe."

James gasped loudly, his eyes bugging out of his head. "I need—I need to go," he said, haphazardly shoving his cup at Steve. He fled towards the exit with his head down, accidentally colliding with several people along the way. Steve watched him go with wide eyes, then quickly shook himself out of his daze. He grabbed a couple of water bottles sitting at the end of the table and headed for the door.

Steve found James hiding behind a potted plant in the lobby, sitting on the corner of a sectional with his elbows on his knees. He was clutching his head in his hands, and he looked absolutely defeated. Happy, the security guard, was pretending not to notice him.  "James?" Steve called.

James tensed. "Hey," he croaked, lifting his head. "You again."

"Yeah, me again," said Steve, wondering if he should back off. "You, uh, you want some water?"

James took the water bottle and turned it around in his hands, examining it suspiciously. It must have passed muster because he slowly cracked open the bottle, taking a tiny sip. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," said Steve, shifting and scratching the back of his neck. "Can I—d'you mind if I sit? I mean—if you want company? I can go back to the party, too, leave you alone."

James looked down, giving a small shrug. "You don't have to stay here with me. You—you looked like you were having a good time."

"The quiet is kind of nice, actually," Steve admitted, hesitantly sitting down on the sectional a respectable distance away from James. He popped open his own water bottle, taking a long sip, then held out the plate of snacks he'd managed to salvage in his flight. "Want some pretzels? Or, um...pumpkin seeds? Maybe some trail mix?"

James shook his head. "No, thank you." He blew out a breath, running his hands through his hair. "I, um. I'm sorry. I..." He picked at the label of his water bottle. "I have a hard time at parties. I don't like feeling crowded and I—I wasn't expecting anyone to go to that corner."

"Oh," said Steve, flooded with guilt, "Crap. I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the night for you."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," said James, hunching his shoulders. "I just—" He shook his head, scratching at the water bottle label again. "Never mind."

They sat in an awkward silence for a minute. Then Steve asked, "You're friends with Natasha?", just as James opened his mouth and said something Steve couldn't hear over the sound of his own voice.

Steve flushed red, and so did James.  There was a silence as they both waited for the other to speak again, and then they simultaneously asked, "What?"

Steve huffed and cleared his throat, gesturing to James. "Sorry, what?"

"Um, nothing," James mumbled. "What was your question?"

"I, uh, I asked how do you know Natasha."

"Oh. We—we took a Russian class together this summer."

"You speak Russian?" asked Steve, and then the realization hit. "Wait. You're a student? Here at TU?"

James frowned. "Yeah, of course I'm a student. How do you think I got into the party?"

"Oh, I—" Steve realized just in time that saying _I tried to look you up on the TU directory, and I couldn't find you_ might sound incredibly creepy, so he snapped his mouth shut and shook his head.

James' shoulders slumped. "I'm only part-time, though, for now," he mumbled, ashamed.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with that."

A ghost of a smile flashed across James' face. "Yeah. I guess not." His eyes darted to Steve. "Are you...what's your...major? I mean. If you have one?"

"I'm a second year, and I just applied for a history major and a minor in art and design. What about you? Uh—I mean—" Steve flushed. "Do you have one, too?"

James ducked his head. "Um, engineering. Mechanical engineering. I'm, uh—I guess you could say I'm in my second year too."

"Cool," said Steve, absorbing that information. "So...you know Tony, then? Isn't he a double major in mechanical engineering and electrical engineering?"

James shrugged. "We're not in any classes together, since he's a fourth year, but he's always in the engineering labs, so I see him around sometimes." The corner of James' mouth quirked upward. "Still waiting for him and his father to get their act together and build that flying car that Stark Industries promised us when we were kids."

"Oh, I remember those commercials," said Steve. "Didn't Tony star in one of them?"

"Yeah. He's in that one where the car flies up to his bedroom window and takes him over the Hudson. It was my favorite one. I liked to imagine myself in his place." James smiled wistfully, his face softening at the memory. "I told my parents I was going to have my own flying car when I grew up. Guess that's one dream that's not going to come true."

"You could be the one to build it," said Steve. "Who says you need to wait for SI to do it?"

James' eyes darted to Steve's face. "Well," he said in a low voice, "you know, for that, I might need someone who's really good at designing wings. Like the ones I saw Sharon Carter wearing downstairs."

Steve felt like his face was on fire. "Are you—is this flirting? Are you flirting with me?"

"Um," said James, blushing, "Is it working?"

"I—" Steve opened his mouth, then shut it abruptly. "Maybe?"

James looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered, curling in on himself, "I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, it's okay," Steve hurried to say. His mouth felt too big for his face, and his cheeks were still burning. "I—I'm really—I just don't know why anyone would want to flirt with  _me_ ," he admitted in a rush, and then his eyes widened in horror. James looked at him head-on, frowning heavily, and Steve wished he could shove the words back in his mouth. "I, um, I just mean—I haven't got a lot to offer," Steve tried again.

The line between James' eyebrows grew deeper. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve huffed, "Look at me. I'm a short, skinny, poor kid with scoliosis and asthma. There's nothing attractive about that."

James bit his lip and exhaled slowly. "I think you're being too hard on yourself." Color rose in his cheeks, and he said quietly, "I think you look really nice, actually, especially tonight. And you are really nice. I don't know anyone who would go out of their way to give a pizza back to a stranger."

Steve shifted uncomfortably, sure that his face was the color of a tomato by now. "It was the right thing to do."

"Yeah, but not many people would _do_ it," James countered, his bright blue eyes boring into Steve's like he was trying to imprint the message into Steve's brain. "It's a lot of effort and time. And I—I wasn't even nice to you about getting it back. Sorry about that."

"It's okay, I was rude too," said Steve. He tried to think of something else to say, but his heart was thudding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly think. His eyes traced James' strong jawline, soft brown hair, and the corded muscle outlined perfectly by his costume. "Mick Jagger," he blurted out, as the realization hit him like a hammer. "Right?"

James blinked. "What?"

"The costume," said Steve, "Am I right?"

James nodded.

"It looks good," said Steve. "You look good. Really good." Steve didn't know how many times he could say "good," but he wanted to get his meaning across. "Really, really good."

"Thanks," said James, with a pleased smile.

"Yeah."

"We should probably head back to the party," James suggested after a beat of silence.

"Oh," said Steve, his heart sinking with disappointment. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

"But," said James, "Maybe we could...go have coffee sometime this week?" He chewed his lip, glancing uncertainly at Steve. "If you want?"

"Coffee," Steve echoed. "Okay. Yeah. Coffee. Yeah, that, that sounds—good."

James' face lit up with another pleased smile, and he pulled out his phone. "Okay. What's your number? I'll text you."

Steve's phone vibrated a second later.

Unknown number, Oct 26, 8:33 PM: _It's James. Coffee later this week?_

"Got it," said Steve, saving James' number in his phone. There was a text from Sam as well.

Sam Wilson, Oct 26, 8:11 PM: _Hey man you ok? Where'd you go?_

Steve disposed of the uneaten snack plate and glanced toward the hall. "I guess my friends are looking for me. Ready to go back in?"

"Ready," said James. "Natasha is probably wondering where I went, too."

Natasha pounced on James as soon as they stepped back into thte party, sweeping him away to the closest corner and speaking quickly at a volume Steve couldn't hear. Steve tried to catch James' eye, but James was replying to Natasha, hunching his shoulders and looking for all the world like he was a small child getting scolded. Steve frowned, taking a step towards them, but he quickly got intercepted by a worried, bare-chested, and gloveless Sam.  

"Man, I've been looking all over for you. Where'd you go?"

"I was just upstairs in the lobby with James," said Steve, looking towards the corner. Natasha and James had both disappeared.

"James who?" Sam frowned. "Rhodes? He's been here the whole time."

"Barnes. The guy I delivered the pizza to. He's a student. Natasha's friend."

"You're friends now? I thought you guys had some kind of incident?"

Steve looked away, his cheeks heating. "We're okay now."

"Is it the lighting in here or are you blushing?" Sam's eyes widened as he studied Steve's face. "Dude. No way. You two are going out?"

"Just for coffee," Steve muttered, fidgeting. "Some time this week."

Sam whistled. "I leave you alone for a few minutes and you go and get yourself a date!"

"What's this I hear about a date?" Tony asked, appearing at Steve's side like he'd been summoned out of the woodwork. "Oh, _oh._ Are you and Barnes finally confirming the rumors about Bowie and Jagger?"

"It's none of your business, Tony," Steve replied, scowling.

"Whoa there," said Tony, holding his hands up with a little smirk. "Don't worry, Rogers. I have no designs on Barnes. I'm happy for you two. Really. I mean, look, you dressed up as one of the most infamous rumored-to-be-gay couples that ever existed—without even consulting even each other. It's practically fate."

"Tony, leave him alone." Pepper Potts deftly maneuvered her way around their little group and held out her hand to Steve. She was wearing an eighteenth-century gown that showed the barest hint of cleavage. A huge hat with a ribbon hid most of the elegant knot in which her hair had been arranged. "Hi, Steve. Hi, Sam. Thank you for coming to the party."

"Thanks for the invitation," said Sam.

"Yes, thanks," said Steve. "Are you dressed up as Irene Adler?"

"Yeah," said Pepper, her eyes lighting up. "You know, you're the first person who's guessed correctly. Everyone else just thinks I'm 'generic Victorian prostitute.' As if I chose to dress this way just to get attention, or in the words of one person, 'be an effing tease.'"

Steve frowned darkly, looking around the room. "Who's saying that?"

"I'm sorry," said Sam.

"Pep, who said that to you? I'll go and hack them," said Tony.

"Don't worry, I already had words with that person," said Pepper with a satisfied smile. "I bet they're strongly reconsidering their misogynistic views right about now."

"Good," said Steve. "Well, if they give you trouble again, I'm happy to support you."

"And me, Pep," Tony said. "Me. I support you."

"Same," said Sam, "You ever need some male allies, give me a call."

Pepper huffed a laugh. "Thank you, guys. I appreciate it." A loud roar came up from the group gathered behind her, and Pepper hooked her arm around Tony's, pulling him in that direction. "Come on, Tony, hosting duties await. Steve, Sam, I hope you enjoy the rest of the party."

"Thanks," Steve called.

"So," said Sam, crossing his arms over his chest, "you and I are going to get lunch sometime this week, and you're going to tell me everything that happened with Barnes, all right?"

"Before or after I have coffee with him?" Steve retorted.

"Both," said Sam, and Steve groaned. "But here's the deal. We meet up before, we meet up after, and I won't say a word to my mom till I know things are getting serious. _Capisce_?"

"That is such a raw deal, Sam," Steve muttered, sucking in air through his teeth as he turned over the offer in his mind. "Fine. I accept. But I reserve the right to tease you in front of your mom if anything happens between you and Riley in the next couple months."

Sam spluttered. He lowered his voice, looking around nervously. "Wait. Did I tell you—D'you really think Riley is into—"

" _Yes,_ " Steve hissed, spotting Riley coming their direction behind Sam's back. Steve coughed loudly and called, "Hey, Riley!"

"Hey Steve," said Riley cheerfully, holding out a plate of Halloween-themed pastries to Sam. "Here, Sam. Steve, do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm okay," said Steve, "Thanks. What'd I miss while I was away?"

"You missed a _lot_ ," said Riley, grinning. "Let me tell you."

Riley spent the next half hour regaling Steve with an account of the punch pong tournament, which had escalated from a two-player competition between Natasha and Clint to a multi-player effort involving Sam, Riley, Natasha, Clint, Tony, Pepper, and Sharon, with Rhodes serving as the referee who made the final call. Steve half-listened, nodding and humming at the appropriate times as his eyes roamed over the crowd. James seemed to have disappeared from the party along with Natasha. Steve wondered if James was also getting interrogated about their time upstairs, or if he and Natasha were talking about something else.

"And then Thor arrived!" Riley exclaimed, shaking Steve out of his thoughts. "He just came out of nowhere and started –"

"Sorry, wait, Thor?" Steve interrupted.  

"Yeah," said Riley, "I guess he's back taking part-time classes and getting a second bachelor's in business management. Did you know his first degree was in physics? All of us were surprised to find that out."

"He's also working at Asgard Pizza as a server," said Steve. "I ran into him there the other day."

"An actual Odinson working at Asgard?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Indeed!" boomed a voice from behind Sam. Sam jumped, whirling around, doubling over and covering a laugh as he took in Thor's costume, which was obviously meant to honor Thor's namesake. Thor had on a red cape, a tight black wifebeater with gold accents that showed off a truly impressive pair of biceps, black pants tucked into black boots, and a giant plastic hammer hanging off a brown belt with a huge gold cowboy buckle. "Can I interest you all in some Asgard Pizza coupons?"  He reached into the pocket of his pants and waved some crumpled, glossy coupons at them. "We're having a grand re-opening!"

"You were already open," Steve pointed out.

"Well, yes," Thor conceded, squinting at Steve like Steve was the one who wasn't making sense, "but we're _re-opening_ because we repainted the outside of the building. It has a mural now!"

"I'm always up for free pizza," said Riley cheerfully.

"Good man," said Thor, clapping Riley on the shoulder. Riley squeaked and stumbled a little. "What about you, Wilson? Pizza? You deserve it after that impressive performance at the pong table!"

"Sure," said Sam, extracting the coupons from Thor's hands and shoving them into the pocket of his sparkly shorts. "Thanks, man."

"Are you still, uh—where's Jane?" Steve asked awkwardly. "Is she back at TU too?"

Thor's smile lit up his whole face. "Yes she is. She's still working for Dr. Selvig. He moved his back to TU this year—Albuquerque didn't really suit him or Jane. I'm glad to be home."

"Wait, Selvig is – that's Bruce's adviser. Bruce Banner. Does Jane know him?"

"Oh, yes! He's one of Jane's new lab-mates. He's become a good friend to both of us. How do you know him?"

"He works at Carter's Café with me," said Steve.

"Oh, that café! I used to spend all of my time in there. I'll make sure to visit again!"

"Great," said Steve. "I'm Steve Rogers, by the way."

"I remember you," said Thor, grinning, "Nice to meet you officially."

Steve, Sam, and Riley chatted with Thor until Clint came and roped them into a darts competition, which ended quickly and subsequently transformed into a makeshift game of "How many darts can you knock off the wall with Thor's hammer?" Thor, of course, was the winner, but Steve came surprisingly close, beating out even Clint, who was famously good at archery.

The party began dying out soon after that, as most of the attendees began to feel the late hour combined with a sugar crash. Steve made sure to make the rounds, saying hi to Maria Hill, who had come late wearing a pantsuit—"I'm supposed to be a CEO," she explained, "they say you're supposed to dress for the job you want, so here I am. Also, I had an interview today for an internship." Jane Foster also arrived shortly afterward, accompanied by her lab assistant Darcy, who was in her first semester at TU and had stuck some fake vampire teeth in her mouth.

"Sorry, sorry, I know this party is supposed to be for undergrads," said Jane, looking apologetically at Pepper over the food table, "but both Thor and Darcy insisted I come so that I could get some food that wasn't from a vending machine. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," said Darcy, voice slightly muffled by the fake teeth. "I'm an undergrad, and so is Thor, technically, and you're both our plus-one. You're doubly covered."

Jane made a doubtful noise.

"It's all right, I promise," said Pepper, "We're glad to help feed you. Fortunately for you, all we've got left are the healthy snacks."

To Steve's disappointment, James never re-appeared at the party. Neither did Natasha, so Steve couldn't even ask her for information. Steve tried not to think too hard about it. James had said that he didn't like crowds, so it was entirely possible he'd decided to go home after coming back in and seeing that the room was even more packed than before. There was no reason for Steve to think that James had left because he had changed his mind about the date and was too embarrassed to tell Steve.

It didn't stop Steve from pacing around his apartment at 1 AM after getting back from the party, staring at James' initial text and wondering if he should check in.

 _Hey, is everything okay? I noticed you didn't really stay at the party._ Delete. Too long, too concerned, too clingy.

 _Hey, you still up?_   Delete. He had to say more than that. It sounded like the start of a booty call. Not that Steve had ever requested or received a request for a booty call, but he had seen the memes.

 _Hey, are you okay?_ Too vague, too much implied concern when there might not be anything wrong.

Steve sighed and threw his phone to the end of the bed, wondering if he should just go to sleep. Two seconds later, he was up again, staring at the screen. He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight if he didn't say something.

 _Hey James,_ he typed carefully, _I hope you had a good rest of the night. It was great talking to you tonight. I should be free Thursday afternoon after 2 PM if you still want to meet. Let me know if that works for you._

Steve paused and added, _You can always come visit me at Carter's, too. I work the Saturday afternoon shift from 1-6 and weekday evening shifts Monday and Wednesday from 6-11. Employee discount on me._

Steve took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed "send." Then he quickly plugged in the phone into the charger and placed it face down on the nightstand before forcing himself to get under the covers and face the wall so that he could try to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
>   * Jokes about being closeted gay men - Tony sees that Steve and James have dressed up as David Bowie and Mick Jagger, respectively, for the Halloween party, and that they are going out on a date. He teases them about finally "confirming" [the rumors that Bowie and Jagger had a sexual relationship.](https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/jagger-bowie-wife-rumor/)
> 

> 
> References:
> 
>   * Steve dressed up as [David Bowie from the music video for _Life on Mars_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZKcl4-tcuo). [Here](https://lastfm-img2.akamaized.net/i/u/770x0/68aa6df7181844c4bad2ae5d7d5f422e.jpg#68aa6df7181844c4bad2ae5d7d5f422e) is the photo that served as the reference for Steve and Bucky's costumes.
>   * In the [_Rocky_ movie series](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rocky_\(film_series\)), Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed are rivals who eventually become good friends. Both [Rocky](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51lVUqouIIL._SX385_.jpg) and [Apollo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_Creed#/media/File:Apollo_creed_promo.jpg) have famous American flag costumes.
>   * Natasha dressed as [Will Scarlet](https://d.lib.rochester.edu/robin-hood/theme/will-scarlet) as a complement to Clint's Robin Hood.
> 



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes to work and gets a surprise visitor. A Studio Ghibli movie gets watched.

James still hadn't responded when Steve woke up to get ready for his afternoon shift. Steve tried not to think too hard about it. James could still be sleeping. He could have had a late night even if he didn't stay at the party. He could be the type of person who slept in on weekends regardless of happened the night before. He could have gotten Steve's text and been too tired to reply.

What he also could have done was decide to sit on Steve's text until Steve's anxiety ramped up so much that Steve would beg for an answer. Rumlow had used that strategy multiple times as a roommate. Steve stubbornly refused to believe that James would do such a thing. He tried to assure himself that James was nothing like Rumlow—surely he would have noticed.

Still, Steve wound up checking his phone obsessively on the bus ride to work. He cast a longing look at it sitting in his cubby as he stepped out of the back office and headed to the counter.

"What's bothering you?" Sharon asked.

"Nothing," said Steve, his eyes darting back to the office.

Sharon narrowed her eyes. "Does this have anything to do with the guy you were photographed with last night?"

"What?" Steve said, his eyes widening. "What do you mean?"

Sharon glanced around furtively. The café was relatively empty, and there didn't seem to be anyone approaching the door or the counter. She jerked her head toward the back. "Come on, I'll show you."

Sharon opened up the NextDorm app on her phone and pulled up a post in the Events section titled "The Tower's Halloween Party: Rares, Pairs, and Scares!" The author of the post was listed as "TU Social Media Committee, Dorm Team." Sharon scrolled through photos of familiar and unfamiliar faces until she stopped on one clearly taken from a distance. It was Steve and Bucky, standing behind the door and smiling at each other, their costumes on full display. It must have been taken just after they'd re-entered the party.

Steve stared at it, examining the angle of the photo. It was practically an aerial shot—no one could have captured a full length shot with that crowd in the room. "Who took this?"

Sharon shrugged. "Don't know. It's kind of impressive, though." She locked her phone, sticking it back in her cubby. "You look happy in it. Who is he?"

"Friend of Natasha's," said Steve, heat rising in his cheeks. "His name is James."

"James," Sharon said, her mouth curving into a grin reminiscent of Peggy's. Steve gulped, bracing himself for interrogation, but Sharon merely made a thoughtful noise that did nothing to calm Steve's nerves as he followed her back to the counter.

The café soon got busy with an influx of Halloween weekend traffic, mainly consisting of students  recovering from the previous night and/or preparing for more partying tonight. The pumpkin bread ran out around 4:30 PM, leaving Steve scrambling to appease some disappointed customers while Sharon ran around in the kitchen. "We're making some more, it'll just be another half hour," he said to the girl dressed as Wednesday Addams. The girl glared at him as if she wanted to cut his tongue out and turned swiftly, her two braids flouncing behind her.

"Sorry," Steve muttered under his breath, wondering if she was simply acting in-character or if she was expressing genuine hangriness. Probably both. Steve sighed. He resisted the urge to go check on Sharon and covertly check his phone. Instead, he pasted a smile on his face, watching as a stocky guy approached with a flustered expression.  He was wearing some knockoff black Spiderman costume featuring a face with a sharklike grin and disturbingly long tongue on the hood.

"Um," the guy blurted out, looking very twitchy, "chocolate? Anything chocolate. Everything chocolate."

Steve pinned the guy with a stare. The guy was probably just a distressed graduate student who hadn't left the lab for a few days, but Steve could never be too sure. He wished abruptly that Bruce was on shift today. "Food or drink?" asked Steve.

"Uh, food, man, food," said the guy, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. For eating."

"Choose your poison," said Steve, gesturing to the glass case.

The guy shot Steve an alarmed look. "Poison?"

"It's just an expression," said Steve with a nervous laugh. "So, what would you like? Chocolate croissant, an eclair, maybe a cake pop?"

"Cake pop," said the guy, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, that sounds good. It'll fit right into my mouth like a little Barbie doll head."

"Heh," said Steve, clearing his throat, "that'll be two dollars." He bagged the cake pop and handed it over, accepting the damp cash the guy extracted from somewhere Steve preferred not to think about. He hoped that the guy was just acting like whatever character he meant to dress up as and wasn't actually a serial killer.

He was so distracted watching the guy leave that he didn't notice the next customer until they were standing right in front of him. "Steven!"

Steve took a startled step back, his ears ringing as he took in the person in front of him. "Hey, Thor."

"Hello," said Thor with a huge grin, "how are you? I promised I'd visit, and now I'm here!" He held out his hoodie-covered arms, nearly knocking over the Wednesday Addams lookalike who had wandered up to check if the pumpkin bread had been refilled. She glared at Thor and Steve, then marched back to the corner table and continued to stare unwaveringly at the pastry case.

Steve tried to ignore the girl's creepy stare and said, "I'm doing fine. What can I get you?"

"Oh," said Thor, quickly pulling out his phone, "Let me see. I've got a list. One blueberry scone for Jane, a cranberry orange muffin for Darcy, a giant chocolate chip cookie for Val, a 20 ounce London Fog for Bruce, two large mocha lattes, one large macchiato, one large black coffee, please." He looked up with a furrowed brow. "Should I repeat that?"

"No, no, I've got it," said Steve, quickly reciting the order back to him and reading out the total cost. "Okay, this might take a little while, so bear with me."

"Of course. I will wait patiently," said Thor, swiping his card and settling himself into a tall table near the pickup counter.

A queue of disgruntled customers started forming at the counter as Steve made Thor's giant order. "Be there in a minute," he called, fumbling with the steamer. He hissed a little as his finger came in contact with the metal spout. "Ow," he muttered. The customer at the counter huffed and peeled away to the side door, leaving without a word, and a few more in the back joined the exodus through the front door. Steve winced. He hated losing customers for any reason, but there was just no way he could work faster.

Thor thanked him profusely as he gathered the bags containing his order and pressed a $20 bill into Steve's hand. "For your excellent service," he said, then he left before Steve could even begin to protest.

Steve sighed and rolled his neck once to relieve the knot of tension before returning to the register, then felt all the blood rush to his face as he saw who was standing in front of him. "Hey," said Steve, his heart hammering in his ears. "Hey, James. How are you?"

James' mouth quirked into a grin. He looked happy and refreshed, dressed in fitted jeans and a maroon henley with a black backpack slung over his right shoulder and a gray jacket slung over his left arm. His hair was clean and washed, falling in soft waves that framed his face and made Steve's hands itch for a pencil or his tablet.  "Hey, Steve. I'm doing well. How are you?"

"Um, great!" Steve squeaked in a voice an octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat, an embarrassed blush creeping up his face, and asked in a thankfully normal pitch, "What can I get you?"

"A small cup of drip," James answered. He worried his lip and added, shyly, "And maybe - we could go out for dinner when you're off work?"

"Dinner," said Steve dumbly, "I thought we were—coffee?"

James' face shuttered. "Oh. We, um. Yeah. We could still do that." He shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders. "Sorry. I thought you said I could come here—sorry—I didn't mean—"

Steve wanted to slap himself upside the head. "No, wait, wait. Dinner. Dinner sounds—good. Yeah. I'd really like to—to go with you. When I'm done."

James glanced up at Steve from underneath his lashes, his smile returning. "Okay. Can I wait here for you? I brought some work to do so it won't be creepy." James flushed. "Sorry. That sounded weird. I mean, I really do have work to do."

"Sure," said Steve. "I—yeah. Sit anywhere you like."

"Here's your coffee," called Sharon loudly at the pickup station.

Both Steve and James jumped. Steve hastened to add, "It's on the house. I mean, on me. Staff get free drip coffee."

James' eyes widened in surprise. "Um—thanks. I'll see you soon," he said. He picked up his coffee, cast one last glance at Steve, then settled in the back corner of the café near the exit. Steve watched him pull out a laptop and a notepad, then forced himself to turn back to Sharon.

"Dinner?" she mouthed, raising an eyebrow. She quickly closed the pastry case, now full of restocked pumpkin bread, and whispered, "He's cute."

Steve blushed harder, and Sharon laughed, quickly turning it into a cough as the Wednesday Addams lookalike approached.

"Here for your pumpkin bread?" Steve asked.

"Yes," said the girl flatly. "I hope it's made of real pumpkins."

"Um...yes?" Steve said.

The girl looked him dead in the eye as she swiped her card. "I hope you have a good dinner date. You two make a very aesthetically pleasing pair."

Steve choked, and beside him, Sharon let out a strangled, barely muffled laugh. The girl didn't wait for a response, walking calmly to the side door and leaving the café, pumpkin bread in hand.

"Aesthetically pleasing," Sharon echoed under her breath. "That is _good_."

"Please don't pass that on to Peggy, I'll never hear the end of it," Steve muttered.

"Pass on what to Peggy?" asked Sharon with a guileless smile. She let Steve squirm for half a second before her face turned serious. "Steve, hey. I'm really happy for you, actually. I hope you have a good time."

"Thanks," said Steve. He felt warm all over, and it wasn't just because he was half-hiding behind the steamer.

Steve's shift ended with no other incidents. He darted to the backroom to grab his wallet, keys, and phone, then untied his apron and pulled on his sweater over his uniform shirt. Thankfully he'd decided to bring a nice blue one that complemented his black pants and fit pretty well over the brown uniform shirt. It wasn't exactly how he'd planned to dress on a first date, but even he wasn't stupid enough to pass up the opportunity. The thought of James coming all the way here and seeking him out even before they'd formally scheduled anything made him feel—well, it made him feel giddy, and excited, and anxious, but most of all, it made him feel _wanted_ in a way he hadn't felt since his mother died. Even with Sam and his mother, Steve always felt a little bit like a burden. He didn't feel like that now.

James was all packed up and waiting for Steve when Steve emerged from behind the counter. "Hey," said Steve, trying to keep his voice steady. "Ready to go?"

James gave Steve a small smile and tucked his hair behind his ear. "Yeah," he said, shouldering his backpack over his jacket. "I was thinking we could go to that Greek place just down the street from here? The Vios. It just opened. I got a coupon in the mail that I've been waiting to use." He shot a hopeful look at Steve, which made him look like an adorable puppy.

Steve smiled. "Sure."

James' expression brightened, and he led Steve out of the café and onto the street. As they walked, they passed by small groups of other students, all in costume en route to various Halloween parties: a group of muscular guys dressed up in colorful unicorn costumes; a small coven of witches; a girl with cat ears and a high, painful-looking half-ponytail; the creepy rabbit from _Donnie Darko_ ; a full Addams family set, complete with Cousin It; and a group of three flamboyant vampires accompanying one ordinary-looking guy wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the words, "My name is Stu." Steve exchanged glances with James at each one, his heart fluttering at the way James' eyes crinkled with amusement.

The Vios was a small hole-in-the-wall place with a neon sign that belied its warmly lit interior. It was crowded with costumed students when they entered. Steve and James got seated quickly at the last available table, a two-top located in the very back corner near the entrance to the kitchen.  

"Can I take the seat against the wall?" asked James.

Steve nodded. James sat down and stretched out his long legs with a sigh. "I'm starving," he said, flipping through the menu.

Over an appetizer of hummus and pita bread, Steve and James exchanged stories about their classes, their friends, and their jobs. James worked as an online tutor, helping high school students understand the basics of physics and chemistry. His favorite class was deformable bodies, which focused on how things changed shape under different loads. James' closest friend was Natasha, whom he had met while taking a Russian class last summer at TU "just for fun," but he also spent a lot of time with Clint, who often dragged him out of his apartment to intramural archery tournaments, where James served as a stand-in for Clint's apparently flaky teammates.

"I don't know why he keeps inviting me," said James, "I did it in high school, um, competitively, but then I...stopped for a while. I'm not that good anymore. But it's...it's nice to get back into it."

Steve's brain pinged on the word _stopped_ , and he wondered if it had anything to do with James' lawsuit against HYDRA. Steve shook the thought away—he had no right to ask—and said, "That's cool. I didn't do any sports. I mean, I still don't." He let out a self-deprecating laugh and gestured to his body. "Not much to work with here. Can't even run a mile without having an asthma attack."

James' mouth turned down into a frown. "That doesn't mean that you're not attractive."

"I—" Steve blushed, completely derailed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said James. "Besides, I think you're underselling yourself. Clint told me you almost beat him at that game with Thor's hammer at the party yesterday."

"I was just lucky," Steve mumbled. He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. "I, um, I looked for you after we got back inside. Where did you go?"

"Oh." James looked faintly surprised. "I—um. I went out with Natasha. She wanted to know what had happened."

"Oh," said Steve, as the realization dawned on him. "She interrogated you. Got it."

"Yeah," said James, huffing a laugh. "And she wasn't going to get her answers in the middle of a crowded party, so, you know. It was imperative that we went to a quiet place instead."

"She shouldn't have taken you out of the party if you wanted to be there," Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt very strongly about this. "That wasn't very respectful of her."

James' eyes crinkled. "I've never had someone defend my honor against Natasha. It's flattering."  He shook his head. "It was fine. I was about out of energy, anyway. I was disappointed that I didn't get to spend more time with you, but, um. That's why I came to look for you today." James' cheeks turned a deep red, and he looked away.

"I'm—I'm glad you did," said Steve, his own face flaming.

James' eyes drifted to the side. "Food's coming."

James dug into his beef souvlaki platter with gusto as Steve carefully separated out the peppers and onions from the Greek salad sitting next to his gyro. There was no way he was going to risk getting reflux tonight. He looked sadly at the cup of tzatziki sauce sitting on the side—he couldn't be sure it was going to be friendly to his digestive system—and placed it on the table before slowly making his way through his food.

"You don't like those?" asked James, looking at the sequestered vegetables and sauce.

Steve ducked his head. "I used to, it's just—I can't eat them anymore. They upset my stomach. Too much dairy and acid."

"Oh, okay, I'll keep that in mind," said James. There was no judgment in his tone. "Can I eat them then? And use your extra sauce?"

"Go ahead."

James didn't take long to finish his plate. Instead of waiting in awkward silence, he told Steve about his family, who had moved from Shelbyville, Indiana to Brooklyn Heights in New York when he was three. James' parents were both still in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and so were his younger sisters Becca, Josie, and Lizzy. Josie and Lizzy were in seventh and ninth grade, respectively, and Becca was in her senior year of high school. She had started to work on college applications, but she was most likely going to stay in New York, both to stay close to their parents and to take advantage of in-state tuition.

"How'd you end up all the way out in DC?" asked Steve.

James shrugged, glancing away. "TU's a good school with a top-rated mechanical engineering program," he said vaguely, "I wanted to be here."

Steve burned with curiosity, knowing that the lawsuit with HYDRA had happened during James' freshman year, but he reminded himself not to press the issue. "I'm from Brooklyn too," he said instead.

James looked back up, his eyes alight with interest. "Which part?"

"Um, my Ma and I moved around a lot, but we ended up in Williamsburg." Steve saw the moment that James registered the past tense, and he put down his fork and continued in a halting voice, "She, um, she passed away from cancer the summer after I graduated high school. I'd already been accepted to TU...I mean, I had to come, it would've been—disrespectful to her memory if I didn't. All that hard work and….anyway, I moved here and haven't been back since. I mean, I spent the holidays with Sam last year in Harlem, but I didn't go into Brooklyn at all."

James exhaled slowly. "Shit, Steve. I'm sorry. That's really rough."

Steve took a deep breath, blinking back tears. "Yeah—it, I really miss her. And my first year here was pretty hard. But I'm trying to make her proud, you know? Just—working hard in my classes and trying to, um, live the life she always wanted me to have. One where I'm doing the right thing and I'm happy about it. I—I don't know if I'm there yet, but I'm trying."

James nodded, chewing on his lip. "I, uh, I have anxiety. I have trouble being in crowds, as you saw at the party. And sometimes I have trouble just going out at all. It helps to...to have a clear goal. Like—like coming to see you." James ducked his head, his cheeks pink. "Anyway. Some days are better than others, but my th—I keep reminding myself that even a little progress is better than none." James fidgeted, a guilty look on his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make it about me."

Steve shook his head. "It's okay. It...it helps. Really. Knowing I'm not...you know, alone in trying to deal with this kind of stuff."

James nodded. He reached across the table and squeezed Steve's hand, nervously glancing at Steve. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Steve said. James' hand was warm. Steve squeezed it back, his heart fluttering as a small smile graced James' face.

James ordered baklava for dessert, and Steve sampled a tiny piece of it. It was rich and sweet—so much so that James couldn't get further than a couple bites. "Do you want to take home the rest?" he asked Steve.

Steve shook his head. "No, it's yours." He pulled out his wallet as the waiter came back with a box and the check.

"Oh, wait," said James, quickly pulling something from his pocket, "The coupons. Look—ten percent off for a first time customer, plus free dessert."

The total ended up being $20 after the discount. James and Steve each put in a $10 bill, along with a couple of ones for the tip, and then stood to free the table for one of the many couples waiting in a queue at the front door.

"Did you have any other plans tonight?" asked James, shivering a little as a chilly breeze blew through the street. "Any other parties?"

Steve shook his head. "No. Sam and Riley are at some ROTC party, but I didn't want to tag along. What about you?"

James shrugged. "Not much. Natasha and Clint are going to that big off-campus costume party at Helicarrier. It's actually kind of close to my apartment, but one party's enough for me. I was going to try to watch some movies or put on some music to drown out the noise."

"Do you...um...do you like Miyazaki? Studio Ghibli?" asked Steve in a sudden flash of inspiration. His heart pounded in his ears as he continued, "I've got a boxset of all the Studio Ghibli films made by Miyazaki. We could go up to my place at Shield and watch a few on my laptop. It should be pretty quiet, too."

James didn't respond for a minute. Steve wondered nervously if he'd gone too far somehow. Maybe James had misinterpreted his offer as a come-on for sex. Steve clarified in a rush, "I mean—just movies. Maybe some popcorn. Not anything else. I mean, unless we both want to."

James cleared his throat and let out a little laugh. "I—yeah—okay. Sure. Lizzy's a big fan of Studio Ghibli, but it's been a while since I've watched any."

"Okay," said Steve, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and hoping that they didn't leave any marks. "Um—great. Let's walk to the bus stop. It shouldn't be too far."

Steve stole glances at James in the glow of the streetlights as they rode the bus back to Shield. He remembered the first time he met James, just like this, and he wondered if James remembered it too. It was probably too late to ask now.

He led James through the front doors of the Shield dorm, waited for him to sign in and get his ID verified by the front desk assistant Phil, then took him to the elevator in an effort to keep him from seeing whatever garbage might be lying on the stairs. But James' eyes widened fractionally when he glanced at the elevator, and he quietly asked, "Can we take the stairs?"

Crowded spaces. Right. Steve felt like an idiot. The stairwell wasn't that much better, but at least James wouldn't be trapped in a metal box with no way to get out. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Steve counted one seemingly empty Diet Pepper can, three crumpled napkins, one broken-off keychain attachment, and two band-aid wrapper (no actual used bandaids, thankfully) on the way up. He considered it a relative success. "Um, this is me," said Steve, fumbling with his keys. Thank goodness the apartment had been such a mess that he'd actually been driven to clean it this morning before going to work. James wouldn't have to see the piles of dirty dishes or laundry that had built up over the week.

Steve quickly darted in to turn on the lamp, then turned back to James, anxiously awaiting his reaction. James turned slowly, taking in the Studio Ghibli posters, Steve's slightly rumpled, dormitory-issue extra-long twin-size bed in the corner, the small desk dominated by the laptop and drawing tablet, and the drooping inflatable chair that that Steve hadn't had a chance to refill with air. "It's nice. Cozy. I like it," he said with a smile.

Steve tried to read any hint of mockery in James' expression, but he found none. He unclenched his jaw and cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"So—movie?" said James.

"Yeah," said Steve, brushing his hair back from his face. His face heated as he suggested, "Um—we could sit on the bed, backs to the wall? I can move the chair and put the laptop on it next to the bed."

"That sounds good. Should I take my shoes off?"

"Um, yeah. That'd be good. Thanks."

James shrugged out of his jacket, then lowered himself to the floor, carefully folding his limbs into a sitting position before untying the laces of his boots. Steve knelt beside him, taking off his Converses with more care than usual, then quickly went to set up his laptop and chair. He felt momentarily embarrassed at the fact that he didn't have a giant monitor or television to do this properly, then decided that if James were the type to judge him for that, then he wasn't worth knowing anyway.

James hovered at the foot of the bed until Steve sat on the mattress and patted the space on his left. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, with more confidence than he felt. He handed James one of his two pillows—the fluffier one—and went to grab his DVD set. Buying it was the one indulgence he'd allowed himself last Christmas. "Um...do you have one you'd like to watch first?"

"Maybe... _Kiki's Delivery Service_?" said James, his brow furrowed as Steve flipped through each disc. "I remember Lizzy loving it when we were younger."

"That's a good one to start with," said Steve.

Steve's laptop screen was not that big, so he and James crammed together toward the center of the bed so that they could both see the movie. Halfway through the movie, James hesitantly wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders, curling his fingers around Steve's bicep. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

Steve nodded. He glanced away from the screen and leaned his head against James' firm chest, flushing with both nerves and desire. "This is good," he whispered back.

Steve could barely concentrate on the rest of the movie, hyper-aware of all the places he was touching James—and all the places he wanted to touch, but wouldn't without getting permission. He wondered if James was feeling the same way, but when Steve glanced up, James seemed entranced by the film, his mouth parted slightly and his gaze intent on the screen. Steve resisted the urge to reach up and touch James' lips, even press his own against them and lick into James' mouth—

He halted his thoughts abruptly, blushing. Steve had shared an awkward kiss with his friend Arnie Roth back when he was fourteen the summer before high school, but he hadn't gone much farther than that. Arnie's family had moved to a different neighborhood shortly thereafter due to Arnie's father's job. And no one had wanted to be friends with Steve in high school, much less date him. Steve had done plenty of his own research on sexuality and knew what his preferences were, but he hadn't ever really been with anyone, and the thought of being with James—who was so close and _right there—_ was almost overwhelming.

Steve must have been staring too long, because James shifted and frowned own at him as soon as the end credits rolled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Steve, his cheeks burning. "Um—" He sat up, pushing his hair back as it flopped over his forehead. "Did you like the, uh, the movie?"

"Yeah," said James thoughtfully. "The animation's great, of course, but it's also got a good message about...not letting yourself be afraid to change."

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I can relate to Kiki's self-doubt a lot, too."

James nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. So can I." He picked up the boxset on the floor and looked through the discs, glancing at Steve over his shoulder. "Do you want to watch another?"

"Sure," said Steve.

Steve vetoed _My Neighbor Totoro —_ he had no desire to break down into tears when the kids in the movie visited their sick mother in the hospital—and James gave him a brief, understanding look before flipping through the rest of the set. They ended up watching _Spirited Away_ , one of Steve's favorites which James had never seen before. Steve resumed his position nestled against James' chest, his thoughts —and eyes—occasionally drifting southward before he silently and guiltily got control of himself.

"That was beautiful," said James at the end of _Spirited Away_. "Wow." His face broke into a yawn, and he rubbed his eyes, then grinned sheepishly at Steve. "Sorry. I'm pretty tired."

"It's okay," said Steve, tamping down the frisson of disappointment shot through him. "Um, it's pretty late. I guess we should, um, sleep."

"Yeah," said James. He tucked his hair behind his ears—it had fallen forward when he'd tried to cover his yawn—and stood slowly, stretching his torso and his arms towards the ceiling. Steve's mouth watered a little at the little strip of skin that showed when James' henley rode up. "I, uh, I guess I'd better go," said James, dropping his arms. Steve's attention snapped back to James' face, which bore a mix of disappointment, fear, and hope. "I, um...I had a really good time tonight, Steve. Thank you."

"Thank you," said Steve, and added belatedly, "James."

James snagged his jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on, then sat back down on the floor to pull on his boots. "You don't have to call me James," he said, clearing his throat. "I, um—I sometimes go by Bucky."

"Oh. I can call you Bucky, if you like," said Steve.

"Yeah, okay." James—no, Bucky—gave Steve a small, shy smile. "I'd like that."

"Can I ask where it came from?"

"My middle name, Buchanan. Like the president." Steve nodded; he already knew about James' middle name, but he hadn't connected the thoughts. Not that he was going to tell Bucky that, because stumbling upon Bucky's full name through a Google search was creepy.

"It's embarrassing, I know," Bucky continued, jerking Steve out of his thoughts. "I don't know why my parents did it either." He slung his backpack over his shoulder and reached for the door handle, and Steve's heart seized with panic.

"Let me walk you to the front," said Steve, hurriedly stuffing his feet into his shoes. "Show you the way out, at least."

Bucky's eyes crinkled. "Okay."

Steve quickly did up the laces and then led Bucky down the stairwell. Bucky signed out of the guestbook—Phil gave him a bland smile and told him to "have a nice night"—and then paused just in front of the outer door, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "So," he said. "Can we do this again sometime? Hang out?"

"Yeah," said Steve, smiling, "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Okay." Bucky hesitated a moment, then held out his arms. "Hug?"

Steve nodded. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, resting his cheek against Bucky's chest and sighing happily as Bucky hugged him back tightly.

Bucky was the first one to step back. "I should go," he said, reluctance in every line of his body. "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Bucky. Let me know when you've gotten home."

Bucky nodded and stepped out the door. Steve watched him disappear down the block, then raced up the stairs to start processing what had happened. He nearly worked himself up to an asthma attack on the way.

Steve paced around the apartment like a caged tiger for 20 minutes, his veins flooded with adrenaline as he replayed his date with Bucky over and over again. Had this been a date? Yes, it had definitely been a date. A dinner and movie date, even. Had Bucky wanted to kiss Steve? Unknown. Steve had certainly wanted to kiss him, but he wouldn't do anything without Bucky's permission. Had they cuddled? Oh, yes, they had cuddled. That had counted as cuddling, right?

_Ping._

Steve's hands shook as he picked up his phone. "Get a grip," he muttered to himself as he opened up his text messages.

James Barnes, Oct 27, 11:24 PM: _Home safe. Thanks again for such a good night, Steve. Good night. See you soon. : )_

Steve read the message about ten times before he could formulate a response.

_I had a good time too. Good night, Bucky. Sleep tight.  : )_

Steve took a moment to change Bucky's name from "James Barnes" to "Bucky Barnes" in his contact list, then he put his phone facedown on his nightstand before he could work himself into another round of anxiety-induced overanalysis. He took a few more nervous laps around the room, forcing himself to take deep, calm breaths until his heartbeat finally slowed to a reasonable pace. Then he went through the motions of going to bed and turned off the lights, trying to shut out the ambient noise of returning partygoers as he tried to fall asleep.

One last thought crossed his mind before he drifted off.

_Oh, damn it. Bucky's leftover dessert is still in my fridge._


	6. Chapter 6

Steve woke up on Sunday morning with a content smile on his face. He hummed and made himself toast and scrambled eggs, then spotted the takeout box in his fridge and grabbed his phone. There were no new messages from Bucky or anyone else, but it was still a relatively early morning after a major party night, so Steve wasn't disappointed.

Steve carefully typed a message to Bucky, double- and triple-checking it before hitting "send": _Good morning, Bucky. You left your leftover baklava in my fridge. Should I bring it over?_

Steve took a deep breath and watched the "delivered" notification appear under the message. It would probably be a while before he received a response. He opened up Facebook as he ate his scrambled eggs. Sam and Riley certainly looked like they had a good time with their ROTC cohort, and the few photos released from Helicarrier showed Natasha in a black catsuit, Clint in black combat gear, and Sharon in pink nurse's scrubs, which was such a jarring mental image that Steve wasn't sure how he felt about it. Steve spent a few more minutes scrolling, and then he heaved a deep sigh. It was time to get to work.

Steve logged into the various curriculum sites his professors deigned to use and pulled together a list of his assignments. There were no assignments from his History Seminar—not surprising given that the bulk of the grade was based on class discussion, in which Steve generally excelled by stridently arguing against his more conservative (aka bigoted) classmates. However, he did have a bunch of reading to do for his Western Civilizations class, a couple of short videos and articles to review and analyze for his Media in a Free Society class, one essay to write comparing globalism vs. realism for his International Relations class, and a new drawing assignment focusing on digital profiles of bodies in motion. Steve quickly prioritized the written assignments and began to work.

He was putting the finishing touches on his essay when his phone pinged. Steve picked it up, realizing suddenly how hungry he was.

Bucky Barnes, Sun Oct 28, 12:54 PM: _Oh, sorry. You can eat it if you want, or just throw it out._

It took Steve a moment to remember what Bucky was talking about. Steve texted back, _No, you know I'm going to find a way to get it back to you somehow. I can bring it over to you if you want. I do know where you live._ Steve immediately regretted hitting "send" on that message. He hastily added, _Sorry, that sounds creepy._

Bucky Barnes, Sun Oct 28, 1:00 PM: _I know_ _where you live too_ ;-)

 _So does that mean you're coming to me?_ Steve could hardly believe his own daring as he added, _I'll let you in anytime._ ;-)

Bucky Barnes, Sun Oct 28, 1:03 PM: _Wow, Steve. I'm blushing._ Steve watched the three dots fade in and out until Bucky finally continued, _Today's not a good day for me to go out, but you're welcome to come over in a couple hours. How about around 3:30 PM? Bring your laptop and DVD set. We can continue our movie marathon. I'll make sure there's popcorn, if that's OK._

 _Sounds great. 3:30 it is_ , _see you then,_ Steve responded, grinning widely at his screen. He set himself an alarm for 3:00 to leave himself enough time for the bus ride, then made himself a quick sandwich and got back to work.

Steve managed to get through his Media assignment by the time he needed to leave. His back ached as he bent down to tie his laces, and he grimaced a little, shifting his weight. "Come on, twisted spine, don't give out on me now," he muttered, wrapping the bag containing Bucky's boxed dessert around his wrist.

He waited at the bus stop for a couple minutes, shivering a little in the cold despite his leather jacket. His phone pinged as he hopped onto the bus. He settled into a seat and looked at the screen, but it wasn't a text from Bucky; it was a text from Sam.

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:08 PM: _Hey, any word on when you're having your coffee date with JB? Saw that photo of you two at the Tower's party. You're smiling for once, what a miracle :O_

Steve huffed. _Actually, we hung out yesterday at my place_ , he replied. He was tempted to add "so there," but he refrained.

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:10 PM: _What the hell Steve, are you serious?!?! Details please_

 _I'm actually on my way to his place right now_ , Steve replied, _so I gotta go, later :D_

Steve turned off his screen and silenced the volume on his phone, but not before his phone vibrated rapidly with several texts at once. Steve smirked as he read through them:

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:12 PM: _Man, so not cool_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:12 PM: _I'm gonna ask Sharon_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:12 PM: _Ok Sharon's awake, be ready_

Sharon Carter, Sun Oct 28, 3:13 PM: _What happened between you and James last night?_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:13 PM: _holy shit he came to the cafe and took you out after work?!_

Sharon Carter, Sun Oct 28, 3:14 PM: _OK, first off, where did you go for dinner? And what's this I hear about him hanging out with you at Shield? Too bad I was working, I might have been able to come and say hello._

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:14 PM: _wait how did dinner lead to "hanging out" in your apartment_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:14 PM: _did you  :-* , or Netflix and chill, or..._

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:14 PM: _Steve come on_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 3:14 PM: _you're really gonna leave us hanging, huh_

Sharon Carter, Sun Oct 28, 3:16 PM: _I'm tempted to ask Phil for security footage from last night, but I won't, because that would be unethical, and I doubt he'd hand it over anyway._

Sharon Carter, Sun Oct 28, 3:16 PM: _Peggy's coming back to work Monday, so I'm sure I'll find out what happened sooner or later.  ;-)_

"I'm in deep shit now," Steve muttered to himself, shaking his head. He should have expected that it'd come to this. His friends were nosy bastards when they wanted to be. Still, he felt a little rush of warmth: at least they cared enough to check on him.  

Steve made his way to Bucky's building and rang the callbox. Bucky answered immediately. "Steve?"

"It's me," said Steve.

"Hey, come on up." The door clicked a moment later. Steve walked down the hall till he reached door #107, and Bucky opened the door before Steve even had a chance to knock.

"Hey," said Bucky, smiling. He was wearing slightly loose jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt that matched his eyes, and his hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.

"Hey," said Steve, his throat dry. "How are you?"

Bucky's eyes crinkled. "Doing pretty well." He gestured for Steve to come inside. "Come on in. I cleaned up a little."

Bucky's apartment was a studio much like Steve's, a small open space with a tiny attached bathroom and closet. In the corner sat a full-size bed with a fluffy navy duvet, made with almost military precision. The kitchen—separated from the rest of the space by having a linoleum floor instead of thin carpet—housed two rickety chairs and a chipped wooden table, atop which sat an old, slightly dented laptop, a notepad, and several pencils arranged in order of length. A beige loveseat stood in front of the only window, and along the opposite wall sat a small bookshelf with paperbacks ordered by height. Steve couldn't make out any of the titles except for one: _I, Robot_ by Isaac Asimov.

"I got the bed and mattress from IKEA, but the table and chairs and shelf I picked up off the curb," Bucky said as Steve's eyes roved over each piece of furniture and paused on the loveseat, illuminated by pale winter sunlight from the open blinds. "And the loveseat came with the place—the last renter just left it here. I used a hand-held vacuum on it three times and then washed the pillow covers and the pillows, so it should be safe. Go ahead and take a seat."

Steve untwisted the bag wrapped around his wrist. "Here's your baklava."

"Thanks." Bucky headed toward the kitchen. "You want something to drink? Uh...water? I don't think I have anything else right now."

"Water is fine, thanks," said Steve. He took off his shoes and placed them next to Bucky's boots, then sank onto the loveseat, which was surprisingly comfortable. Bucky cleared the kitchen table and dragged it over, its legs noisily hitting the carpet with stuttered _thunks_. "You can set your laptop on there," he told Steve, shaking out his left arm and rubbing his left shoulder. "I'll get the drinks and snacks."

Steve booted up his laptop and slid in the DVD for _Ponyo_ , figuring it wouldn't trigger anything too terrible for either of them.  Bucky returned with two glasses of water and a bowl of popcorn tucked under his right arm. He carefully placed the glasses on each side of the laptop, then handed the bowl of popcorn to Steve. "Here you go. I bought the kind that's been popped in olive oil, since you mentioned that you can't eat much dairy, and I didn't know if butter was, um, okay."

"Oh," said Steve, feeling warm all over, "That was really considerate of you. Thank you, Bucky."

Bucky smiled and gave a little shrug. "Well, it'd be rude to invite you over and not have anything you could eat." He grimaced as the microwave beeped loudly behind him. "Hold on."

A sweet honey smell wafted toward Steve as Bucky approached with the leftover baklava on a small plate. Bucky sat down on Steve's left and balanced the baklava on his lap. "Okay. I'm ready."

The film passed in a wash of blue and pink hues. Halfway through, Bucky set aside his plate and draped his right arm around Steve's shoulders. Steve smiled leaned into his touch, nestling his head against Bucky's chest and matching his breaths to Bucky's.

Steve found his eyes drifting upward to Bucky's, noting the way the colors from the screen reflected off the bright blue of his eyes. For the first time in a long time, his hands itched for a set of physical colored pencils so that he could capture the play of color. He hadn't used that medium since his mom died, and his art and design classes hadn't yet called for it. The work he produced with colored pencils was the type his mom had loved the most, and although Steve had taken all of the art supplies in their old apartment to TU, he hadn't been able to bring himself to touch the pencils sitting at the bottom of a box in his closet.

"I think I like this better than _The Little Mermaid_ , but that might just be because my sisters have made watch _The Little Mermaid_ at least 10 times. This one has a better ending," Bucky declared during the end credits, scrounging for the last pieces of popcorn in the bowl. Steve tried very hard not to notice how close Bucky's hand was to his groin. Bucky reached his left hand out for his water glass, then hissed as if he'd been stung.

"You all right?" asked Steve, sitting up.

"Yeah," said Bucky. He flashed Steve a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just slept on it funny last night. My shoulder's been acting up all day." He slowly unclenched his fingers from where they'd been pressing against his palm. "Sorry."

Steve set aside the popcorn bowl and took Bucky's glass off the table, holding it out at arm-height so that Bucky didn't have to reach upward. "Here," he said.

"Thanks," said Bucky, his eyes flickering with some emotion that Steve couldn't identify. He took a sip of water and said nervously,, "I...um, I should probably get back to finishing my homework, but...I could use an accountability buddy if you want to stay and, uh, make sure I get it done?"

Steve took a moment to parse those words. "You want me to watch you do homework?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky looked mortified. "No. I mean—you can hang out, or leave, it's just—nice to have someone around so I don't just screw around on the Internet for hours."

Steve lightly nudged Bucky, smiling. "Hey, it's okay. I know what you meant. Yes, I'll stay and be your study buddy.  I've got a lot of reading to do anyway, and I can download it online." He bent down and pulled out his power cord. "Do you have anywhere I can plug this in?"

Bucky nodded. He took the power cord and plugged it into the nearest outlet, then grabbed his own laptop and a chair from the kitchen, setting them next to the table.  "I've got some problem sets to do, so I'll work at the table. You can join me or get comfortable on the loveseat, either way."

Steve's back twinged as he shifted and adjusted his laptop on his legs. "I'll stay here for now."

"Okay." Bucky clicked around his laptop for a few moments, then glanced at Steve, chewing his lip. "Hey, um, do you mind if I put on some swing music? It helps me concentrate."

"Sure," said Steve, "I love those big band pieces. Ma used to listen to them a lot."

"Oh," said Bucky, hesitating.

Steve smiled at him, a little ball of warmth settling in his chest. "It's fine, Bucky. I'm okay."

"Okay. You can tell me to turn it off at any time."

Steve did his best to concentrate on reading about the rise and fall of medieval empires, but his eyes kept getting drawn to Bucky, whose gaze darted between his laptop screen and the table as he scratched his pencil across his homework packet. Bucky hummed along to the music softly, his brow furrowing as he mouthed numbers and worked out a calculation.

Steve's gaze lingered on the line of Bucky's jaw, sharply defined now that it was free of stubble, then traveled down so he could study his long, elegant neck and the hollow of his throat. Bucky had classic, beautiful features that made Steve wish that he had been assigned to draw Bucky for his digital portrait assignment instead of himself. More than that, though, Steve wished he could capture Bucky's vibrant spirit, on full display now that he was relaxed at home.

Steve must have been staring too long, because Bucky frowned and looked up. "Is something wrong? Should I turn it off?"

"No," said Steve, heat rising to his cheeks, "It's fine. I just got a little distracted by, um, something else."

Bucky's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "It sounds like you need a study break."  He stood up and stretched, then walked around to the loveseat and held out his hand out to Steve. A cheerful jazzy piece started playing through the speakers. "Want to dance?"

Steve froze like a deer in headlights. "I—I don't really know how."

"I'll teach you. Look, we're not even wearing shoes, so we can't break each other's toes if we step on them."

"You sound like you're speaking from personal experience," Steve muttered.

Bucky chuckled. "Well, yes, I am. But if it helps, it was my toes that nearly got broken, not the other person's."

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel any better," Steve admitted, but he set his laptop aside anyway and stood, taking Bucky's hand. "Go easy on me. I really don't know what I'm doing."

Bucky led him to the open space in the kitchen. "We'll use the floor, since the carpet's a little uneven," he said. He took both of Steve's hands in his, pausing a moment to listen to the music, then began tapping his foot to the rhythm. "Feel that beat?"

"Um, maybe," said Steve nervously.

"Just step with me. I'll go slow."

Steve made his best attempt to mirror Bucky's movements as Bucky quietly narrated the moves. Bucky let Steve stare at his feet till the end of the song, then he tapped Steve's chin. "It'll be easier if you look up at me," he said. His fingers brushed Steve's arm as he moved his hand upward and gently rested his hand on Steve's shoulder. The next song began with a slow, sweet saxophone melody. "Put your other hand on my waist and follow my lead."

Steve's heart hammered loudly in his ears as he obeyed Bucky's instructions, feeling the firm muscle beneath Bucky's shirt and lifting his chin to meet Bucky's startling blue eyes. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and his lungs strained at the effort. He fervently hoped that he wasn't going to have an asthma attack—this would be the worst time.

Bucky rocked them back and forth for a while, then slowly took Steve in a circuit around the kitchen. "You've got it," he said softly.

The song changed to a big, brassy band number, and they went at a faster pace, stepping back and forth quickly. Bucky grinned impishly as the band blasted the final few chords, and he let go of Steve to do a quick little spin of his own, nearly crashing into the kitchen counter. He caught himself at the last minute, laughing breathlessly.  "Oof, that was close. I should be more careful." He pushed his hair out of his flushed face, still smiling. "Thanks, Steve. That's the most fun I've had in a long time."

"You're welcome," said Steve, with an answering smile. He pushed his hair off his forehead. "Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

Bucky grinned. "I've always liked dancing, so I took some weekend classes at the community center when I was in high school. Haven't done it since I came, um—" Bucky cut himself off, chewing his lip. "Anyway, it's been a while since I had that much fun. So thank you."

"You're welcome," said Steve, and he added, hesitantly, "Anytime you want to dance, you just ask. I know I'm not the best partner, but—"

Bucky cut him off. "Hey, don't say that. You're a great partner. You didn't step on my toes at all." He blushed and smiled shyly. "Thanks, Steve. I'll take you up on that."

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Both Bucky and Steve jumped and looked around wildly. Bucky swore softly and began hunting for his phone, which he located on the kitchen counter. He turned off the alarm, looking at Steve sheepishly. "Sorry about that. It's my alarm reminding me to Skype my family. We do a call every Sunday at 7 PM."

"Oh," said Steve, his mood deflating, "should I go?"

"Sorry," said Bucky, looking apologetic. "They can be a handful. I don't want to subject you to them."

Steve nodded, packing up his laptop and retrieving his shoes from the front door. "We should do this again," he said as he tied his laces, in what he hoped was a casual tone. "There are so many Miyazaki movies you haven't seen."

"Hey, I saw _Totoro_ with my sisters, and now I've seen three more," Bucky protested, and then he grinned at Steve. "Anyway, I can't think of a better way to educate myself than to watch them with a talented artist like yourself."

Steve blushed, standing and putting on his jacket. "Wow. That was, um—thank you."

"I'll, um, I'll come by the café Saturday again, if that's okay," said Bucky.

"That is definitely okay," said Steve. "And don't forget, I work there Monday and Wednesday nights, too."

"What about Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday?"

"I'm usually working on assignments then, so I'm at the studio, my apartment, or the library."

"Got it," said Bucky, looking thoughtful. "Maybe we can do another study break on one of those days."

Steve grinned. "I'd like that."

Bucky held out his arms. "Hug?"

"Hug," agreed Steve. He wrapped his arms around Bucky tightly, breathing in the scent of light sweat and cedarwood, and he tried not to look too disappointed when Bucky let go.

"Thank you, Steve. I'll see you later," said Bucky, reluctantly herding him into the hallway.

"See you, Buck."

Bucky gave him one last smile, then shut the door gently.

Steve couldn't stop smiling like an idiot as he rode the bus home. His smile grew as he checked the messages he'd received in the time he'd been at Bucky's.

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 5:30 PM: _are you still over there_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 6:02 PM: _really Steve? Damn boy, get it_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 6:45 PM: _what are you two doing?! You owe me so many deets man_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 6:48 PM: _And don't think I didn't notice you getting around our deal from the party_

Steve thought for a moment, then typed out a reply. _On my way back now._

Sam responded almost immediately.

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 7:00 PM: _ok so what happened. And not just today, what the hell happened yesterday? Start from the beginning please_

Steve smirked and typed, _We went to dinner._

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 7:02 PM: _...and?_

 _And I'll tell you the rest over lunch tomorrow to fulfill the terms of our agreement at the party._  Steve double-checked his spelling and grammar to make sure the text had maximum effect before he hit "send."

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 7:04 PM: _You are such an asshole_

 _Just honoring our deal as best I can at this point,_ Steve replied. _Meet at the hub at 12:30 tmr at our regular table?_

Sam Wilson, Sun Oct 28, 7:15 PM: _Ok asshole, see you then_

Steve laughed a little under his breath as he stepped off the bus, filled with a burst of happy energy. He pushed through the front door of Shield, waved to Phil at the desk, and raced up the the stairs, not even stopping to peer in disgust at the half-eaten pizza slice lying on the landing. When he got into his apartment, he kicked off his shoes, pulled out his laptop, and connected it to his tablet. Under the guise of completing his digital art assignment, he quickly outlined the silhouette of a man in motion, trying to capture the way Bucky had looked spinning across the kitchen. Steve looked over it critically, then began to fill in the details, focusing on the subtle laugh lines around the man's eyes and mouth.

Steve went down the rabbit hole for a while, shading and erasing until the man's body was less a collection of half-scratched lines and more a body captured in the middle of a turn. The task he saved for last was finding the perfect hue with which to color the man's eyes. He wanted, of course, the same shade of blue that he saw in Bucky's, and it took him a good 45 minutes for him to figure out the right spot on the color wheel. After he carefully shaded in the eyes, he sat back with a relieved sigh. He felt like he had done a decent job capturing Bucky's joy and movement without making the man obviously recognizable as Bucky.

Steve exported the file and emailed it to himself, then downloaded it onto his phone and attached it to a text message that he sent to Bucky. _Have a preview of my newest assignment_ , he captioned, adding, _Thank you for a great night. Sleep tight._

Steve waited nervously for five minutes, but the status on the message didn't change from "Delivered" to "Read." His mood dipped slightly, and he shook his head at himself. There was no reason to be so disappointed; Bucky had probably already turned in for the night. Steve forced himself to turn off the screen and get ready for bed. It was late, and his History seminar started early on Monday mornings; he needed to have enough energy to argue against his more bigoted classmates. With a sigh, he flopped onto his bed, letting his mind and body come down from their highs from the day. It wasn't long before he was asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please heed the warnings in the tags.** See additional warnings in the end notes. The warnings contain spoilers.

Steve's alarm woke him Monday morning with a loud and obnoxious blaring. Steve groaned and pulled his pillow over his head, trying to drown it out. When the phone went silent five minutes later, he heaved a sigh and swung his legs out of bed, hissing at the chill as he threw off the covers. He got ready on autopilot, packing his bag and grabbing a granola bar as he headed out the door. It wasn't till he was sitting inside the lecture hall, trying to warm up from his walk to the building, that he checked his phone. His heart jumped as he saw five new messages from Bucky. With a furtive look at the other few students who had showed up fifteen minutes early, he swiped his finger across the screen and read.

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 8:45 AM: _Hey Steve, good morning_

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 8:46 AM: _Wow!_

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 8:46 AM: _What a nice surprise to wake up to_

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 8:46 AM: _It's amazing. I can practically feel myself moving with the man in the picture._

Steve grinned. _Good morning, Bucky_ , he wrote, then added, _I'm glad you like it._

Steve's phone buzzed instantly with Bucky's response.

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 8:48 AM: _Wait. Is that me?_

Steve glanced around at the students trickling in, keeping an eye out for any of the meaner bullies, and quickly typed, _Yes, I used you as inspiration. Sorry. I can redo it if you feel uncomfortable._

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 8:53 AM: _Don't worry, Steve. I'll gladly be your muse._

 _You're much more than that,_ Steve quickly typed, then shoved his phone into his pocket as Professor Jones walked in and called the class to attention.

Two hours of lectures and one hour of arguments later, Steve was en route to the Hub, the large building in the center of campus housing a food court, various study corners with couches, ATM machines, and huge rooms that could be rented out for movie screenings, guest lectures, or other major events. He spent some time at the salad bar and made himself a small, hot cup of soup, then joined Sam at the corner table at the far side of the food court. Sam was already there, working his way through a grilled chicken sandwich packed with lettuce and tomatoes. "Mm, hey, hold on," he said, one hand over his mouth, "sorry."

Steve carefully placed his jacket on the back of his chair and got his bag situated under the table, then dug into his salad. Sam gave him five minutes to eat before he cleared his throat impatiently. "Okay, Steve. Spill. What happened between you and James?"

"His name is Bucky," said Steve.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Bucky?" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, it's from his middle name," said Steve. "He told me on Saturday night."

"Okay, okay, hold up. Start from the beginning. Sharon already told me that he showed up to the café. What happened next?"

Sam listened carefully as Steve gave his account, occasionally ribbing him over some detail. ("You ask each other for hugs? That is sickeningly cute, Steve. Ugh, I can already see it. You're going to be one of _those_ couples, too adorable for words.") He chuckled as he scrolled through the texts Bucky had sent Steve, then handed Steve's phone back. "I gotta say—I'm happy for you. _You_ seem happy, and he seems like a cool guy, though why he would choose to go by Bucky instead of James is beyond my comprehension. Now I've only got one last thing to do, and that is find the right time to give him the shovel talk."

"Sam, there's no need to do that," Steve protested, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning heavily. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm joking, I know you can," said Sam. "Don't worry, Steve. I'm not going to mess this up for you. I wouldn't do that. But hey - I'm in your corner, man. If anything happens, I've got your back."

"Thanks, Sam," said Steve, his cheeks warm, "I appreciate it."

Steve got a similar speech from Peggy at work. After he'd finished welcoming her back with a careful hug, she told him, "Steve, I hear you've been spending time with one James Barnes. Now, Sharon helped me do a little investigation—oh, don't make that face, I'm sure you were smart enough to do the same before inviting him into your apartment. As I was saying, I've vetted him thoroughly, and I'm giving you both my blessing. However, I won't hesitate to dust off my old skills and use them on him should he cause you any offense."

"Thank you, Peggy," said Steve, heat rising to his face.

"Now don't think this is the end of the conversation, young man. I expect you to tell me every detail of the time you spent with James when we close up shop."

Steve ended up rehashing the story for both Peggy and Sharon, who showed up halfway through closing to drive Peggy home. Steve accepted their offer of a ride, wondering if he was walking into a trap, but to his surprise, neither of them interrogated him for more details during the short ten-minute trip. He had no doubt that they would be dissecting his story as soon as he stepped out of the car.

Steve quickly ran through his nighttime routine and finally checked his phone as he climbed into bed. His heart jumped as he found four new texts from Bucky, which must have come in while he was at work.

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 7:05 PM: _Hey Steve, guess what's for dinner?_

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 7:07 PM: _[picture of pan-sized veggie pizza from Asgard]_

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 7:10 PM: _I should go find that delivery person and thank them for introducing us to each other_

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 10:05 PM: _Good night, Steve. Hope you had a good night at work._

Bucky Barnes, Mon Oct 29, 10:20 PM: _P.S. I have class till 1 PM tomorrow, then I'll be at the central campus library till 4 if you want to join me. I like to hang out on the fifth floor near the gothic window._

Steve flopped onto his bed, grinning as he composed a response. _You're right, we should go find that delivery person. I'll come to the library at 2:30 after class. See you there, and sleep well._

Steve met Bucky at the library Tuesday afternoon, and then twice more during the week. On Thursday night, Bucky typed up a lab report while Steve finally caught up on his Western Civilizations readings, and on Friday afternoon, Steve covertly used his tablet to sketch how the shadows from the gothic window fell on Bucky's face while Bucky muttered at his laptop screen, trying to debug a long string of code in his analysis program. Bucky's ecstatic expression when he finally found the error was one that Steve quickly committed to memory. He almost wished he'd taken a picture, but he wasn't sure how Bucky would feel about that.

They also traded texts throughout the week, starting off with the occasional joke or meme in between classes and progressing into random observations about their campus, friends, professors, and moods.

 _So my old art studio apparently got shut down because it had too much asbestos_ , Steve wrote on his way to work. He chuckled at Bucky's response ( _:-O_ ) and added, _Explains why my asthma kept flaring up last year, I thought it was just my body malfunctioning again._

 _Clint hit himself in the face with an arrow and cracked his nose for the fifth time,_ Bucky reported on Thursday morning. _Sometimes I'm not sure how he's managed to survive to age twenty. Maybe I should ask him if he's traded his soul for immortality._

 _Professor Jones just revealed that he was a translator for the Allies in WW2, how awesome is that!_ Steve relayed to Bucky. _He also just shut down a racist evopsych believer in the middle of class who kept claiming that black people were born dumber than white people._

 _All the plums were gone from the corner store, there were only bananas left,_ Bucky wrote on Friday after they'd parted, _I hate bananas. :(_

 _I hate bananas too, can't stand the taste,_ Steve replied, _unfortunately they're such a good source of potassium I gotta eat them somehow. You been to that smoothie shop next to Phillips Hall? I like getting their cranberry banana smoothie, it's like cranberry cream without actual dairy and you can't taste banana at all._

 _Is that a date, Steve?_ Bucky asked.

 _If you want it to be ;-),_ Steve replied, laughing as he pushed through Shield's front door. _It's only open on weekdays though._

 _Maybe next week_ , Bucky answered.

"Talking to James?"

Steve jumped and found himself standing right in front of Natasha Romanoff, who was scrutinizing him as if he were an insect pinned under a microscope. She smiled at him with all her teeth. "Hi, Steve."

Steve's hackles raised, and he squared his shoulders, determined to show her that he wasn't intimidated no matter how many secret spy lessons she took from Peggy. "Hello, Natasha."

Natasha nodded toward the phone Steve was still clutching in his hand. "James, right?"

"Maybe," Steve said, refusing to give quarter.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, and Steve jutted out his jaw.

They stood staring at each other in tense silence until the door squealed behind Steve and let in a blast of cold air, along with one Clint Barton. "Aw guys, a Mexican standoff? Really?" he said behind Steve. His voice sounded more nasal than usual. Steve didn't turn to look, instead keeping his eyes locked with Natasha's.

Natasha smirked. "Just giving Rogers the shovel talk. One of us has to do it, you know." She leaned in close and said, in a low voice, "If you hurt James in any way, I will end you."

"Right back at you," said Steve, glaring.

Natasha's eyes widened, and she laughed, bright and disarming. "I like you." She gathered her red hair up behind her neck and pulled it into a ponytail, cocking her head and looking at Clint over the top of Steve's head. "You ready, Barton?"

"Yeah," said Clint, darting around Steve to grab the gym bag that was sitting next to Natasha's feet. He lifted it with a grunt, then grinned at Steve over a swollen, bandaged nose. "Hey, man, don't worry. Ever since you two started hanging out, James is like a whole new person. I've never seen him so happy."

Natasha nodded.  "He talks about you all the time."

"He does?" Steve said, knowing he was rising to the bait but wanting to get details anyway. "Um, all good things, I hope?"

"Oh, _very_ good things," said Natasha, winking, and she turned and walked out the door with Clint following in her wake.

"I wish I had their discipline," Phil sighed from the front desk. "Those two hit the gym every night." His eyes widened slightly, and he tensed, pasting a bland and unassuming smile on his face. "Forget I said that," he whispered. "I'm not supposed to talk about the residents."

"Said what?" Steve replied, and he headed up the stairs to his apartment.  

Bucky visited Steve on Saturday again at the café. Peggy pounced on him as soon as she figured out who he was. Bucky shot Steve a nervous look—Steve had warned him that this might be coming—but he allowed Peggy to pull him into her favorite corner and interrogate him until Steve's shift ended. When Steve asked Bucky how it went, Bucky gave him a bemused smile. "At first it was the usual questions about my family, my major, classes, you know. Then she asked me what my intentions were toward you."

"What did you say?"

Bucky's smile turned bashful. "I told her that I really liked spending time with you, and that I wanted to get to know you a lot better. She seemed to think that was acceptable."

Steve caught Peggy's gaze just before he left the café. She gave him an approving nod, then smirked and winked. Steve felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he turned his gaze back to Bucky, who was stepping out the door.

Things continued in the same vein for two more weeks. While Steve still had his regular lunches with Sam, and Bucky still accompanied Clint and Natasha to intramurals games or workout sessions at the rec center, the pair both spent most of their free time with each other. They met regularly at the library, where Bucky worked steadily through his problem sets, while Steve alternated between working on homework or drawing Bucky in secret on his tablet. He hadn't incorporated Bucky into any more of his assignments, but he'd received very positive feedback on the piece he did of Bucky dancing. When Steve shared that with Bucky over smoothies one afternoon, Bucky had grinned and asked for a copy of the drawing so he could share it with his family.

On weekends, Bucky and Steve continued their Miyazaki movie marathon. After that first time, neither of them pretended that they were going to each other's places to do work; instead, their weekend visits became official dates. Steve would clock out of work on Saturday, and then they'd go out to dinner at The Vios, which was quickly becoming Steve's favorite restaurant. Afterward, they'd head to Steve's apartment and cuddle, watching movies until one of them was ready to sleep.  

Steve would show up at Bucky's apartment the following afternoon, armed with his laptop and his tablet, and they'd continue where they'd left off until it was time for Bucky to call his family.  Bucky would occasionally pull Steve into dancing in the kitchen again, and although Steve didn't really pick up the moves, he always complied, eager to see Bucky's face light up like the sun.

Their physical relationship didn't progress beyond hugging and cuddling, but Steve wasn't bothered. Even though he spent his nights guiltily fantasizing about doing any and all manner of things with Bucky, he was willing to take things at whatever pace Bucky wanted. It didn't matter if it never went further. He was mostly content just being able to spend time with Bucky, with both of them relaxed, happy, and safe.

When Steve arrived at Bucky's apartment on their fourth Sunday together, he heard Bucky speaking to someone on the phone, his voice loud and sharp. Steve knocked hesitantly, and Bucky's voice cut off abruptly. The door opened a few seconds later. "Hey," said Bucky, running his hands through his hair. He sounded breathless, like he couldn't get enough air.

"Hey," said Steve, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," said Bucky, flushing, "yeah, everything's fine. Come on in."

Steve followed Bucky inside, noting the line of tension in Bucky's spine. His own nerves ramped up in response.

"Want some water?" Bucky asked.

"Um, sure, thanks," said Steve, hesitantly sitting down on the loveseat. He didn't make any moves to pull out his laptop or DVDs yet, instead choosing to watch Bucky fill a glass with tense, choppy movements. Bucky handed the water to Steve and settled on the other side side of the loveseat. He tucked his hair behind his ear, glancing at Steve, but he didn't say anything.

Awkward silence stretched between them for a long minute. Steve sipped his water, his heart beating double-time in his chest. "So...do you want to watch another movie or…?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Bucky, with a tight smile. "That sounds good."

"Okay," said Steve slowly. He flipped through and chose one with a shorter running time— _The Secret World of Arrietty —_ then slid it into his laptop. Bucky didn't offer to make a bowl of popcorn, and Steve didn't ask.

Bucky slid his right arm over Steve's shoulders as usual a few minutes after the title appeared on the screen. Steve, with his face pressed against Bucky's chest, felt Bucky relaxing slowly throughout the film. He stayed nestled against Bucky as the end credits rolled, frowning as Bucky's heart started thudding more and more quickly in his ears.  

"Bucky," he said, "is there something wrong?"

"Um," said Bucky. He stood up abruptly, plucking Steve's empty water glass out of his hand and bringing it to the sink. The _clink_ echoed loudly throughout the apartment. Bucky stayed facing the sink for another minute, breathing slowly and gripping the edge of the counter with white-knuckled hands.

"Bucky?" said Steve, rising. He padded over to the sink and placed a hand on Bucky's wrist. "Hey. What's up?"

Bucky blew out a breath. "Steve," he said in a strained voice.

Steve braced himself: this was it, this was Bucky rejecting him, telling him he couldn't do this anymore, that he wanted Steve to go away - but all Bucky did was shake his head and laugh a little under his breath. "I used to be better at this," he whispered.

"Bucky," said Steve, dread washing over him and turning the world dim. His voice was flat and calm, and it sounded distant to his own ears. "What is it? Do you want me to go?"

 _"No,_ " said Bucky, his eyes wide and panicked. "I just—damn it. I really like you, Steve. Can I—can I kiss you?"

Steve gaped, shocked into silence, as sound flooded back into his ears, too loud now and overwhelming.

Bucky dropped his gaze. "Sorry, I—is that too fast? I can—shit—"

"Bucky," said Steve, his voice strangling in his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. His ears were ringing, and his whole body felt flushed with a fever.

"I'm sorry—"

Steve shook his head. "Just—just—" He could feel an asthma attack coming on, and he forced himself to close his eyes and take several slow, deep breaths as he tried to regain control of himself. Finally, when he felt like he'd reached some sort of equilibrium, he opened his eyes and met Bucky's gaze. Bucky had retreated to the corner of the kitchen, looking like a kicked puppy with his shoulders hunched and his hair hanging in his face. Steve hated seeing him like that.

"Bucky," said Steve, "Don't be sorry." He swallowed nervously and squared his shoulders. "I want you to kiss me."

Bucky took a few cautious steps towards Steve, hope and fear warring on his face. "Are you sure?" he asked, taking Steve's hand as if they were about to dance. Bucky's hand was shaking.

"Yes," Steve said, staring into Bucky's eyes. "Please. Kiss me right now."

Bucky's hand tightened around Steve's. He leaned down and brushed against Steve's, chaste and gentle. Steve made a startled noise, and Bucky started to pull away, but Steve shook his head and opened his mouth, kissing Bucky back clumsily. Bucky made a soft, high-pitched noise, licking at the underside of Steve's lip, and Steve felt a jolt of heat go from his mouth all the way down to his cock. Steve gasped and broke away, breathing heavily.  

"Was that okay?" breathed Bucky. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Steve whispered, pushing his hair back from his face. He fervently hoped that his asthma wouldn't flare up. "Let's do it again?"

"Okay," whispered Bucky. "Want to sit down?"

They moved to the loveseat, sitting half-turned to face each other, and kissed for a long while. Steve eventually found the courage to move his hand up and cup the back of Bucky's neck, and Bucky smiled and pressed in closer, gently brushing the side of Steve's face with his thumb. Steve shivered at the touch, then gasped and froze as Bucky lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

"Is that okay?" asked Bucky.

"Yeah," said Steve, swallowing heavily. "Do it again."

Bucky complied. Steve moaned at each wet, warm press of Bucky's lips, which were accompanied by small flicks of Bucky's tongue. Steve gently ran a hand through Bucky's hair, combing out the strands, and Bucky made a pleased noise. "That feels good, Steve," he whispered against Steve's collarbone, and he nuzzled at Steve's jaw before continuing his work, this time on the other side of Steve's neck.

Steve's jeans were uncomfortably tight when Bucky pulled back to breathe. He took in Bucky's flushed cheeks and wet mouth, and he was hit with the desire to feel Bucky against every inch of his skin. Bucky seemed to read something in his expression, because one hand skated under the hem of Steve's shirt.

"Okay?" asked Bucky, running his fingers lightly up and down Steve's spine.

"Y-yeah," said Steve, bringing his hand up and tracing the line of Bucky's jaw. He brushed his thumb against the soft skin underneath. "Can I—?"

Bucky kissed Steve. "Yes. Please."

Steve slowly leaned in and pressed his lips there, then added a little lick. Bucky whimpered and let his head fall back, his fingers stuttering in their rhythm as Steve worked his way down from his jaw to his collarbone, occasionally nipping at the skin in a way and making Bucky moan loudly. When Steve hesitantly slid a hand under Bucky's shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his abs, Bucky's hand spasmed against Steve's back. "Wait, Steve, wait," he panted.

Steve backed off, dropping his hand back to his own lap. "Sorry," he said quickly.

"No, no, it's fine. It felt really good." Bucky took a few deep, slow breaths, grounding himself against the couch. "Let's, um—let's take it slow?"

"Okay," said Steve, nodding and catching his own breath, "As slow as you want."

Bucky's face broke into a smile. "Thanks, Steve. And—same. We don't have to do anything you don't want."

Steve nodded. "Thanks."

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

"Oh, damn it," said Bucky. He jumped up and hunted for his phone, circling the apartment until he spotted the phone camouflaged against his duvet. "Sorry, Steve."

Steve grinned, hurriedly packing his laptop and DVDs in his bag. "Going to tell your family all about our makeout session?" he teased.

Bucky made a face. "I'm sure they'll ask. My sisters are nosy as hell. But I won't give them details." He followed Steve to the door, watching Steve lace up his Converses. "Can I tell them we kissed?"

Steve nodded, his face hot. "Sure, Bucky. Can I tell Sam?"

"Okay," said Bucky, his eyes crinkling. "Is he going to give you a hard time about it?"

"Probably, but I'll be okay." Steve put on his jacket and slung his bag over his shoulder reluctantly. "I'll see you later?"

Bucky held out his arms, and Steve moved in for a hug, forgoing the usual question and squeezing Bucky's waist tightly.

"Let's be boyfriends?" asked Bucky, chewing his lip as he stepped back. "Exclusive boyfriends?"

Steve blushed all the way down to his toes. "Boyfriends," he repeated, tilting his head upward to kiss Bucky, soft and sweet. "Exclusive. Yes."

Steve didn't stop smiling the entire journey home. _So, Bucky and I kissed_ , Steve messaged Sam as soon as he sat down on the bus. _It was great. We're boyfriends now._

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18 19, 7:00 PM: _?!?!?!?!_

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:00 PM: _Wow Steve, GET IT. CONGRATS!_

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:02 PM: _tell me everything at lunch tomorrow_

 _Will do,_ Steve replied.

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:05 PM: _I totally just won $25_

 _What?_ Steve shot back. _How? And...congrats?_

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:05 PM: _Thanks haha, never mind_

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:06 PM: _Oops sent that to the wrong person, had a bet going on with a couple people that's all_

 _OK_ , Steve replied, adding a shrug emoji.

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:06 PM: _Is your boy sticking around for Thanksgiving this weekend? Sharon said Peggy might do a thing at her house for the people who are still here and you, me, and him are invited._

Steve blushed at the words "your boy," but his mood dipped a little as he recalled the conversation he and Bucky had during their Friday library session. _He's going back to Brooklyn to see his family. He'll be gone starting on Wednesday, then he'll come back Sunday._

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:08 PM: _Whoa, the whole time huh? You gonna be ok?_

 _I'll be fine_ , Steve wrote, _I wouldn't keep him from his family regardless._

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 18, 7:09 PM: _Good man. Have you met any of them yet?_

 _Not yet,_ Steve replied, as the bus came to a screeching halt in front of his stop. Steve pocketed his phone and hopped off, making his way to his apartment for dinner and homework. Sam didn't text back, probably busy with the weekly ROTC Sunday night training session at the rec center.

"Hey, Ma," Steve whispered that night, switching off the lamp and settling on his side with a happy sigh. "I hope you're doing well, wherever you are. Got a boyfriend now." Steve breathed a laugh, glancing at her photo. "You kept telling me I'd find someone who appreciated me. I didn't believe you, but I should've had more faith. You were always right."

Steve replayed past few weeks with Bucky in his head, his smile growing wider and wider. "Bucky is...he's...he's so smart, and sweet, and—you know, I don't know exactly what he sees in me, but he _doesn't_ see me like, like something to be fixed, and..." Steve flopped onto his back, closing his eyes. "I really like him, Ma," he whispered drowsily, "I think you would too."

* * *

Steve should have known that it couldn't last.

The night before Bucky left for Thanksgiving break, he took Steve to a screening of _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ at the discount movie theater located just outside the north edge of campus. Bucky had been shocked when he found out that Steve had never seen it, and he'd insisted on treating Steve using a holiday bonus he'd gotten from his tutoring job. "You'll love it," Bucky gushed while they stood in the ticket line, "It's like, twenty years old at this point, but the animation still holds up. And the _music_ , Steve, I can't get over how good it is—the lyrics, the melodies, everything. It's ingenious."

Bucky had been right; Steve had loved every single bit of it. He told Bucky as much as they walked back to Steve's apartment, passing long blocks of off-campus apartment units and frathouses, gone dark and silent with most of their residents away for the holidays. Bucky grinned and slipped his hand into Steve's, squeezing tightly, and a little thrill ran through Steve. This was new.

They were thirty feet away from campus when they heard raucous yelling behind them.

"Hey! Hey, faggots!"

Bucky and Steve tensed and exchanged a glance. "Let's just ignore them and get to your place," said Bucky quietly, his hand tightening in Steve's.

"Hey - _Rogers!_ Come on! I'm talking to you!"

Steve choked. He recognized that voice. He dropped Bucky's hand and wheeled around slowly to face a smirking Brock Rumlow, who was stumbling unevenly towards them. "Hey, hey, Stevie," said Rumlow. Steve could smell the alcohol on his breath. "No love for your old roomie, huh?"

"You just used a homophobic slur to insult us, so no," said Steve stiffly, his hands clenching into fists as he saw a group of guys approaching. They all looked big, mean, and drunk, and most of them were wearing T-shirts with the HYDRA logo on them. "Go home, Brock, you're drunk."

Rumlow pouted in mock-hurt. "Aw, Rogers. I missed dealing with your righteous ass every day." His eyes swiveled slowly toward Bucky, who was standing frozen at Steve's side. Brock's eyes widened in disbelief. "Holy shit. That's too perfect. You're hanging out _this_ cripple?" He threw back his head and laughed loudly. "What is this, some sort of pity date?"

One of the guys behind Rumlow smirked. Steve recognized him as the racist evopsych fanatic from his History seminar; he thought the guy's name was Jack something—Jack Rollins. "Didn't you see that photo from NextDorm that's been getting passed around? This is TU's _cutest_ and _most popular_ new faggot couple right here," said Rollins in a mocking tone.

"Shut up," said Steve, rage rising in his blood.  

"So," said Rumlow, "Rogers the hunchback twink is fucking good ol' Bucky Barnes. Or—" His eyes gleamed, and he held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Sorry, I must have got it wrong. There's no way you could get on top of him—he's twice your size! _He's_ the pitcher, you're the catcher. Must not be very satisfying, though, since he's only got one working arm. Isn't that right, Barnes?"

"I—I—" Bucky looked like he was about to throw up. He was trembling too hard to get words out.

"'I, I,'" Rumlow echoed with a nasty smile. "What, are you missing your tongue now too? That really must be weird for you, Rogers. Or is that your kink—missing body parts? You always did tell me not to judge."

"Whatever's wrong with him is _your_ fault, assholes," Steve hissed, digging his nails into his palms. He wished he could punch Rumlow in the face, but the last thing he needed right now was an assault charge. "I know he brought a legal case against you. I know you hurt him two years ago. You should all be fucking ashamed of yourselves."

Rumlow rolled his eyes. "It's not our fault Barnes couldn't handle it. All we did was play a little game—"

Rollins cleared his throat loudly. "Let's go, Brock," grunted Rollins, jerking his head toward the direction they'd come from. He started to turn around.

Rumlow followed, reluctantly, but not before throwing up his middle finger at Steve and Bucky. "Good luck getting your fag asses back to Shield with your broken bodies," he called, and then he walked off.

The adrenaline rushed out of Steve as soon as the group was out of sight. Steve turned to face Bucky, who was trembling wildly and gasping like he couldn't breathe.

"Bucky," said Steve, steering him into campus and onto a nearby bench next to a streetlight. He took Bucky's hand. "Hey, Buck, hey. Just breathe with me, okay. Yeah, just—okay, I'm going to count. One...two...three...four...five…"

Bucky jerked his hand out of Steve's as soon as he regained awareness. "Who told you?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "About the lawsuit. Was it Rumlow? Did he— _shit_ , did he tell you to go out with me to get information?"

" _No,_ Bucky," said Steve, horrified. "No. I met you after Rumlow had already moved out, and we always hated each other anyway. I'd never do that to you. To anyone."

Bucky dropped his face in his hands, letting out a muffled, bitter laugh. "If he didn't tell you, then how did you know? It was all confidential. After the settlement...nobody was allowed to say anything."

The words caught in Steve's throat. He forced himself to say them anyway, his stomach sinking down to his toes. "I—I found it online."

"What?" Bucky breathed, looking up. His eyes were wide with disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"I—I looked you up, I looked up your name after I delivered the pizza from Asgard. And I found...I found a summary of the case on some legal site."

Bucky took a huge, shuddering breath. His eyes glimmered in the dim light. "Shit. _Shit._ " He scrubbed at his face, then froze, slowly turning his head to look at Steve. "Wait. You _knew_? This whole time? Before we even…"

Steve nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I'm so sorry."

Bucky fisted his hair in his hands. "So—so what is this, this thing between us? Some kind of revenge against Rumlow?"

"No!" Steve's shout rang out over the dark, empty courtyard. He lowered his voice and said urgently, "Bucky, it doesn't matter to me. Whatever happened between you and HYDRA is in the past. To be honest, I completely forgot about it once we started spending a lot of time with each other." He reached out a hand toward Bucky, but Bucky recoiled. Steve folded his hands into his lap and tried to catch Bucky's eye, but Bucky stared straight ahead. "Bucky, I'm sorry. Please believe me when I say that I was _never_ motivated to get in a relationship with you because of HYDRA. I agreed to go out with you because I liked _you_."

Bucky sat silently for a minute, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he swallowed his tears. When he finally looked back at Steve, his anguished expression told Steve everything Steve needed to know. "I—I can't do this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and he stood up, wavering for a moment before he caught his balance. "I need to go."

"Bucky, wait," said Steve, his voice cracking.

Bucky shook his head, swiping at his eyes, and walked away without looking back. Steve watched him disappear into the darkness, then buried his face in his hands, trying to stop the flood of tears.

He walked home in a daze, pausing only to wipe at his eyes and nose. He caught a blurry glimpse of red hair when he entered the Shield lobby, but he ignored it, taking the elevator up to his floor and walking all the way down the hall until he got into his apartment. It took him three tries to get his keys in the door.

He blearily kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, running on autopilot as he brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. Then he checked his phone, hoping against hope that there was a text from Bucky, but there was nothing but a thumbs-up emoji from Sam, sent during the movie in response to Steve's text telling him he was going to the theater. Steve's fingers shook as he typed, then deleted, a message to Sam. _I screwed up, and Bucky and I broke up_.

Steve shook his head, staring at the blinking cursor. It was late, nearly midnight; there was no need to bother Sam with this right now. Steve switched off his lamp and stared at the ceiling until he fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
>   * Sexual harassment: Steve and Bucky run into Rumlow and other HYDRA members after their date. Rumlow harasses them and insults them using homophobic and ableist slurs. Rumlow also sexually harasses them by implying that Steve could only be a bottom during anal sex based on his smaller stature.
> 

> 
> References:
> 
>   * Evopsych = evolutionary psychology, a field that studies how evolution has influenced cognitive function and behavior. Unfortunately, evolutionary psychology has [some tenets historically influenced by racist ideas](https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/pdfplus/10.1086/690720).  
> 



	8. Chapter 8

Steve woke up late the next morning feeling like he hadn't slept at all. A little frisson of hope ran through him when he checked his phone screen, but there was nothing from Bucky at all. Steve checked the time—10:38 AM—and his heart sank. Bucky was already on his way to New York via Greyhound; he'd arrive in a couple of hours. Earlier last night, Bucky had said he'd probably text Steve throughout the bus ride to amuse himself, but he must have changed his mind.

Steve's fingers hovered over the keyboard. _Good morning, Bucky_ , he typed. _I'm sorry. Can we talk?_ He scrolled through his entire text message history with Bucky before deciding whether to send it, then deleted it and sent nothing.

When his phone pinged loudly, his heart jumped for a moment before he saw that it was a text from Sam.

Sam Wilson, Wed Nov 21, 10:25 AM: _Hey, we still meeting to get stuff for Peggy's lunch thing tomorrow? I can meet you at Shield in about 20. Stores are closing early today so we gotta hurry._

 _I'll be ready_ , Steve replied, even though the last thing he wanted to do was get up and go outside. He didn't bother with a shower, instead throwing on the same jeans he wore last night, a clean undershirt, and a sweater under his favorite jacket. He shoved a granola bar into his mouth, washed it down with a glass of water, and then went to wait in the lobby. Phil glanced at Steve as he walked by, giving him a little wave. He had a headset on, and he was nodding and making "hmm" noises under his breath as if he were in the middle of some conference call.

"Whoa, you look like shit," said Sam as Steve stepped out of the building. "What happened?"

"Bucky and I," said Steve, "We—we broke up last night."

Sam stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. "What?!" He turned to face Steve head-on, heedless of the disgruntled passerby trying to get around them. "What happened?"

"We, um—it was my fault. I—I can't really go into details, but I…" Steve shook his head, suddenly furious at himself. "I found something about Bucky that I shouldn't have. Before we started dating, I mean. And he found out that I knew about it and had never told him, and—" Steve sucked in a noisy breath. "I should have told him earlier that I knew. Fuck, I'm such an idiot."

"Okay," said Sam slowly, "um, give me a minute to process that." He turned and continued leading the way to the store, a thoughtful expression on his face. When they had walked a few blocks, he said, "So, this thing you found out. I'm guessing it was something Bucky didn't want to be public knowledge."

"Definitely not," said Steve, shaking his head.

"Okay, but you said you found out before you even started dating. So it _was_ public knowledge?"

"I—I guess?" said Steve. "I didn't mean to find it. And I wasn't searching specifically for it. I mean, I shouldn't have been searching in the first place."

"What were you searching for? Can you tell me that?"

"I was searching for...for Bucky online," Steve admitted. "After I delivered the pizza back to him. I got curious. I wanted to know who he was."

"Oh, I see," said Sam. "Well, okay, you probably shouldn't have done that, but we're all guilty of doing that at one point or another. Plus, you probably would've done an online background check before you went out with him, because—well, that's just regular safety procedure these days. So...whatever the information was, it's not like he told you and then you betrayed his trust by telling everyone else. The information was out there, and you came across it at a bad time."

"But I still betrayed his trust, because I knew about it and didn't tell him," said Steve, frowning. "The information...it was really personal to him. Like, as personal as someone knowing that my mom died from cancer. I should have let him know from the start that I'd found it."

"So why didn't you?" asked Sam as they turned a corner and the grocery store came into view.

Steve sighed, pushing his hair out of the way when it flopped over his forehead. "It was in the back of my mind, kind of, but eventually it just didn't seem important and I forgot about it. It's something that happened in his past, but I don't see him any differently because of it."

"And you told him that?" asked Sam, leading the way into the store and pulling out a cart.

Steve nodded, taking charge of the cart as Sam began hunting for various ingredients in the aisles. "Yeah, I did," said Steve, "but I think the whole—the whole thing was too much, and he left."

Sam made a noncommittal noise and dumped a jar of cranberry sauce into the cart next to their two cans of green beans, five boxes of cornbread mix, and small containers of baking powder, baking soda, and sugar. Then he steered them to the dairy section, where he selected lactose-free milk and a carton of a dozen eggs. "Well," he finally said, "Damn. That sucks. Yeah, maybe you should have told him that you knew, but I can see where you were coming from. Like, why bring it up and let it affect your current relationship, you know? Especially if he didn't say anything or asked if you knew anything about it."

"Yeah," said Steve slowly.

Sam sighed and led them to another aisle, peering at the silicone baking items until he finally discovered an appropriate ring mold. "Look, you came across it online. To be fair, you were doing a specific search for him, but you wouldn't have been the only one to find it eventually. Hell, I bet that Sharon and Peggy know; I'm sure they did a thorough check once you guys became a thing. Natasha and Clint probably stalked all of your social media profiles and then some, too. You know how Natasha is, and honestly, I have a suspicion that Clint is even worse. Anyway, the point is—if you didn't find it, someone else would have, and word about...whatever happened... would have gotten back to you and Bucky somehow."

"What should I do?" asked Steve.

Sam made a face. "I don't know, man. I think the best thing you can do is say sorry again for hurting him, and maybe ask to start over. In person, not over text. Maybe he'll be willing to give it a go, maybe he won't."

"Yeah," said Steve dejectedly. "Okay. Thanks, Sam."

"Whatever happens, I'm here for you. Now let's go pay for these before the employees murder us for lingering too long the day before a holiday."

Sam and Steve split the bill, and then Sam helped Steve carry the groceries and unload them in his apartment, where they planned to cook cornbread tomorrow morning before heading to the Friendsgiving lunch at Peggy's apartment. "What are you doing for the rest of the day? Are you working at the café?"

Steve shook his head. "We're closed for the holiday. I was going to catch up on some work. My final drawing project is due in a couple weeks, and I haven't even started. Been too busy with all the history classes."

Sam nodded. "You mind if I come over with some work to do? And snacks? I've got some catching up to do, too, and I'll probably just end up playing video games all day if I go back to the dorm."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," said Steve. "It'll be just like old times."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, it will."

Sam returned ten minutes later with his backpack and a grocery bag full of snacks (pretzels, chips, trail mix, and dried fruit). He settled into the inflatable chair, which Steve had quickly re-inflated while he was gone, and he quickly set up with his StarkPad, a pencil, and a couple of thick review packets. Then he unclipped a thick red neck pillow attached to his backpack and pulled it over his head with a sigh.

"Are you flying somewhere?" asked Steve from the desk, raising his eyebrows with a skeptical look.

"Hey, don't judge," said Sam. "These things are such a lifesaver, especially when you're sitting in a seat with a weird angle or something. My neck strain's decreased by, like, 80%."

"Whatever you say," said Steve.

Steve's final drawing project was divided into two parts. First, he was supposed to make a portfolio of all the work he had done in the semester. He'd already gone to the studio to gather his charcoal, ink, and pencil drawings from the first half of the semester; they were safely stored in a case lying against the wall. It wasn't hard to gather the digital files he'd turned as his assignments: his self-portrait, Bucky dancing, and a final assignment he'd recently submitted of two people sitting at a table and talking, based on his viewpoint from the cash register at the café. The second part of his project was to choose any assignment and draw a companion piece to it in a similar style, then write a short analysis of it.

The choice was easy and obvious. Steve scrolled through his various covert sketches of Bucky at the library until he finally found the one he'd been thinking of.

It had been a cloudy Tuesday afternoon—the second Tuesday they'd spent together—and Steve and Bucky had been sitting in Bucky's favorite corner near the gothic window. Bucky had been working on an engineering assignment while Steve completed his Western Civilization readings. When Steve had finished his readings and looked up, Bucky had been staring off to the side, a deep furrow in his brow as he contemplated some problem. His left arm had rested at his side, and his right had been resting on the table, still holding a pencil in a writing position. Steve had quickly connected his tablet, opened up his drawing program, and sketched an outline of Bucky's face, posture, and ponytail, then added the gothic window behind his head.

He'd laughed under his breath then, thinking how much Bucky looked like some old president or priest. Now, he carefully studied the lines in the drawing and began to clean them up. Even though he didn't know the full story, he knew Bucky had had his dignity stolen by HYDRA somehow in the past, and he was determined to give that back to him in the portrait.

Sam and Steve both worked steadily until it got dark, with occasional breaks for water, snacks, and restroom trips. Steve checked his phone throughout the afternoon, but he received no messages from Bucky. He hoped that Bucky had made it home safe, and at 5:30 while Sam was in the restroom, he shot off a text to that effect before he could think too hard about it. Sam raised his eyebrows as Steve quickly tried to put his phone back on the desk. "No word, huh?"

Steve blew out a breath and shook his head.

Sam grimaced. "I'm sorry, Steve. Hey, how about we call it a night and you come over to my place? We'll order takeout from Golden Buddha—probably the only restaurant open right now, and they have those steamed plates you like—and then we'll give my mom a call, and we'll finish off by staying up late playing Super Smash Bros like we used to last year."

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but he shut it as Sam sighed deeply and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Don't fight me on this, Steve. I can see you working that jaw. You're just going to spend all night moping and obsessing over Bucky if I don't distract you, and that's not helpful to anyone, especially not yourself."

"Fine," Steve groused.

Steve followed Sam back to the ROTC dorm, where they ordered delivery from Golden Buddha, the Chinese restaurant down the street, and then gave Mrs. Wilson a call over speakerphone. She was delighted to hear from them.

"Steve, it's been too long," she scolded over the phone. "You're staying with us again for Christmas, right?"

"Um, yes, ma'am, if that's still okay," said Steve.

Mrs. Wilson scoffed. "Of course, honey, we wouldn't leave you out by yourself. Now, Sam tells me you started dating some boy named James? Is he good to you? I saw that Halloween picture. What a cute white boy."

Steve's throat closed up as Sam made a panicked face. "Uh, they broke up last night, Mom," Sam said.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Um," said Steve, "I—I messed up, Mrs. Wilson. It was my fault."

"Well, not _all_ your fault," said Sam. "I'd say there was miscommunication on both sides."

"Hush, Sam, this is Steve's story. Steve, honey, how are you doing? Be honest, now."

"I'm—" Steve ducked his head and wiped at his eyes. "I'm pretty upset," he admitted. "I wish I could have a do-over. I said sorry, but—I don't think it was enough. He left anyway. We'd had such a good night, and then—this happened."

"Oh, honey," said Mrs. Wilson, her tone softening, "Now, you just let me know if you need anything, Steve. Anything your Ma used to do that you miss, we can try to provide if you want us to. The holidays can be real tough when you've lost a family member."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wilson," said Steve quietly.

The conversation moved forward after that to classes, grades, and Riley, who had flown to Alabama early this morning to spend the weekend with his family. It was clear that Sam and Riley were close as roommates and friends, but Steve couldn't figure out if there was anything more between them. Maybe he'd misread that moment at the Halloween party.

They ended the call after assuring Mrs. Wilson that they had some place to spend Thanksgiving. She snorted when they told her that Peggy was from England ("that's ironic," she muttered), and then bid them goodbye. "Your sisters say hi, Sam," she added, "and they told me they've already texted you this week, so I'm going to let them off the hook. I know you young people don't like phone calls these days."

"We have texted, but tell them I love them anyway," said Sam, then stifled a curse as another call came in. "Oh, the food's here. Bye, Mom."

"Good night, boys. Don't stay up too late."

After stuffing themselves full with takeout, they settled in to play Super Smash Bros on Sam's Nintendo 64 console.  Sam grinned and nudged Steve's shoulder gently while the system booted up. "All right, I know you're a little rusty, but we're not going to stop until you beat me. Show me your moves!"

Steve picked Link, as usual; he liked the scrappy little blond character with his sword and blue shield. It didn't hurt that Link bore a strong resemblance to Steve. Steve didn't grow up with a console, but classic Smash Bros was one game he could play decently, partially because it relied on strategy and partially because he and Sam had spent a lot of time playing it when they roomed together last year. However, he couldn't seem to keep his mind on the game, or keep Link from getting punted off the screen under a merciless barrage from Sam's Captain Falcon. Every time he seemed to make some headway, he got distracted thinking of Bucky and what he could have done differently last night.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, _"Falcon PUNCH!"_ was followed by a scream trailing off into the distance as Link got catapulted into the sunset. "Come on and focus, man. You're not going to win by hucking bombs and boomerangs all night," Sam said.

"Sorry, Sam, I guess my heart's just not in it," Steve moped, and he set down his controller, shaking out his hands. The weight of his phone was heavy in his pocket. "Let's call it a night."

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Not till you beat me." Sam gave Steve a gentle nudge. "Focus just enough for one game. Change it up if you're stuck. C'mon, man."

"Okay, fine," Steve said irritably. First he gave Kirby a try. Maybe he'd luck out and be able to devour Captain Falcon, fall off the edge of the platform, and drag both characters to their death in a cartoonish murder-suicide. But when he managed to pull it off, Sam escaped and launched himself back to safety while Steve's pink puff-ball spun to his demise.

"I hate you, you asshole," Steve muttered.

Sam smirked. "Whatever, man. Try again. The Steve Rogers I know is not a quitter."

Steve sighed, his eyes roaming over the menu screen, and picked Donkey Kong. He worked well for a while, smashing and hulking his way through the platform, but the big gorilla was just too slow, and another _"Falcon PUNCH!"_ sent the ape flying.  
  
"Damn it," Steve muttered. He'd have to beat Sam with his own strength: speed. He switched to Pikachu for the next game, staying out of reach and keeping up a steady stream of lightning balls flowing towards Captain Falcon. Then, when one "Falcon PUNCH!" finally missed its mark, Steve pounced. "Pika-CHU! Take that, asshole!" Steve yelled triumphantly when he finally blasted Sam off the map.

Sam laughed loudly. "Finally! Want to play another?"

"Yeah, I do," said Steve, "and just you watch. I'm going to win every single one."

They called it quits at midnight. Steve did indeed win three games in a row, but the score evened out fairly quickly. They worked their way through all of the character combinations and Sam's secret hoard of Ghirardelli chocolate squares, a giant bag of which he'd nabbed during some student government event earlier this year. Steve's stomach ached a little when he left, but his heart felt much better than it did this morning. There was still no word from Bucky, but Steve's phone showed that the status of his earlier text had been changed from "Delivered" to "Read," so at least Bucky wasn't ignoring him completely.

Sam came over at 11 the next morning, and they spent fifteen minutes making cornbread in Steve's microwave, then met Sharon in the Shield lobby and followed her to the garage underneath the building.

"Nice sweater," said Sharon, as Steve buckled his seatbelt in the backseat of her Chevy Tahoe.

Steve looked down at the gray cable-knit sweater that hung loosely on his frame. "Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I like your outfit too, Sam."

Sam grinned, smoothing a hand over the comfortable gray sweatshirt with the Air Force ROTC logo. "Thanks, Sharon."

Peggy lived in a Queen Anne style rowhouse a few blocks away from the café, and Steve took a moment to appreciate the architecture and the heavy gold knocker on the door before following Sam inside. The interior made it clear this was Peggy's home. Framed photos of her friends and family, including a few of Sharon, hung on the pale, painted walls of the narrow entrance, and the mantlepiece of the expansive living room featured several more. A Persian rug covered the polished hardwood floors of the room.  A tall, dark wood bookshelf featuring books by prominent and obscure women authors took pride of place in the living room, and a vintage couch with a dark red floral pattern and two armchairs with varying levels of stuffing formed a semicircle around a chipped coffee table. A flat-screen television with a DVD and blu-ray player sat against the far wall, at the perfect angle to be seen by anyone who sat on the furniture. Right now it was playing a video of a crackling fireplace.

Steve, Sam, and Sharon found Peggy in the kitchen, which had clearly been renovated in the last few years. She was humming as she washed a head of lettuce in the sink, dancing along to swing music that played from a Bluetooth speaker on the counter. It reminded Steve of Bucky, and it made his heart ache.

"Hello," she said cheerfully. "Go ahead and get yourselves something to drink." She gestured to the punch bowl, pitchers, and glasses lined up along the island. "Water, of course, and a punch made of orange juice, ginger ale, and cranberry juice. You can add more or less of an ingredient, or just make yourself a glass of one of those, if you prefer."

Steve poured himself some ginger ale. His stomach still felt a little bit queasy from the chocolate binge last night. As Sharon and Sam helped themselves to punch, he said, "Thank you for inviting me, Peggy. Can I help with anything?"

Peggy waved a hand. "No, no. Tony should be arriving with the turkey soon, and Natasha and Clint should be here any minute. Just take a seat and enjoy the fake fire I put up on the screen."

Steve followed Sharon and Sam to the living room. Each of them claimed an armchair immediately, so Steve took the couch.

"Natasha and Clint are coming?" Steve said in a low voice. "I didn't know."

Sharon shot him a puzzled look. "Is that a problem? Isn't James friends with them?"

Steve averted his gaze and said quietly, "Um, B—James and I, we broke up last night."

"Oh, Steve," Sharon said, her eyes wide and sympathetic. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Steve shook his head as a knock sounded on the door. Sharon went to answer it, and a few seconds later, she led the aforementioned pair into the living room. Clint was wearing a worn lavender sweater and baggy jeans, while Natasha was dressed in layers: a black T-shirt, a striped gray and black hoodie, and a gray sweater along with fitted jeans. Natasha's eyes narrowed when she spotted Steve, but all she said was, "Hey," and then she went to get herself a drink in the kitchen. Clint slipped away quietly as well.

Tony arrived a minute later, bearing a huge roasted turkey on a covered platter that he pushed in on a dumbwaiter. Everyone gathered in the kitchen to watch him. "Hello, everyone, you're welcome in advance," said Tony. "This from a friend of a friend of a friend of the family, you know how it goes." He bent down to kiss Peggy on the cheek. "Hello, Aunt Peg. My parents send their regards."

"Lovely," said Peggy, turning down the music. "How are they? Howard's still working nonstop in his lab, I'm guessing, and Maria's still running the charity end of SI?"

Tony made _pew-pew_ noises and shooting motions with his fingers. "Got it in one, Aunt Peg. I'm glad you'll be visiting over Christmas. Maybe I won't even have a fight with Dad over the dinner table this year."

The group settled around the long kitchen table, with Natasha, Clint, and Tony on one side, Steve and Sam on the other, and Peggy and Sharon on either end. The turkey, which had come gutted and carved, was placed in the center, and an assortment of side dishes like Sam and Steve's cornbread, a big bowl of salad, cranberry sauce, green beans, and seasoned potatoes filled the rest of the table.

As soon as everyone was seated, Peggy stood and tapped on her glass, calling for a toast. "Thank you, everyone, for coming," she said. "I'm so glad you could be here. My husband and my children have all passed, and so it is lovely to celebrate this holiday with such a wonderful group of people. There is one person in particular I'd like to recognize. When I moved to DC, it was a pleasant surprise to find that Sharon was here pursuing her degree. She has been an excellent great-niece and a gracious caretaker for an old woman like me, not least because she introduced me to all of you. I'd like to toast to her."

Sharon's cheeks turned pink as everyone lifted their glasses. "Thank you, Aunt Peggy," she murmured, "And thank you for everything you've taught me about the café and about, um, life in general."

"You are most welcome, dear." Peggy sat down and made an expansive gesture. "Come on, everyone, let's eat."

Steve avoided Natasha's and Clint's gazes throughout the meal, quietly picking at his food and listening to Sam, Sharon, and Tony argue about the ethics of producing and distributing weapons of mass destruction. Normally it was a discussion he'd jump into, but he was too morose to bother. It didn't escape Peggy's notice, of course. "Steve, could you help me reheat the potatoes in the kitchen? The bowl's a tad heavy for my grip."

Steve nodded. He picked up the bowl and followed Peggy into the kitchen, microwaving the potatoes under her instructions. "A purist would tell me to use the oven, but I traded out elegance for convenience in my cuisine long ago," she said, waving a hand. "Now tell me what's the matter."

Steve shuffled his feet and hunched his shoulders, a habit he'd picked up from Bucky over the past month. The words caught in his throat, and he took a moment to take a few deep breaths. "Bucky, um, James and I...we...we broke up last night." He glanced up as Peggy took a deep, noisy breath in response. When she didn't say anything, he gave her a halting, abbreviated account of what happened, watching the microexpressions flitting across her face: anger, sadness, sympathy, and understanding. "It was my fault," Steve finished off, "I—I betrayed his trust."

"Steve," she said, taking his hand, "I'm sorry this happened. But you didn't betray him. Not really."

Steve shook his head. "I should have told him. I should have...I _shouldn't_ have looked him up in the first place."

Peggy sighed, giving him a sad smile and ignoring the beeps of the microwave. "If you want to blame anyone, blame the people, or the data miners, or the bots, who put that confidential information online in the first place. Blame HYDRA for hurting James at all. Don't be too hard on yourself for stumbling upon information that was right there for the taking."

"Shouldn't I have said something to him, though? When we first…"

"What good would it have done? And what good is it doing you now, punishing yourself over and over for having knowledge that you can't take back?" Peggy squeezed his hand. "You did your best, Steve, with what information you had. You didn't let it change the way you treated James. The only thing you can do now is ask him to forgive you and try to start over."

It was the same thing Sam had said that morning. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at the floor until it wasn't so blurry anymore. "Thanks, Peggy," he said quietly.

The microwave beeped insistently again, and Peggy pulled open its door, wrapping a towel around the bowl of potatoes. "Still warm. Bring these to the kitchen, thank you," she said, wiping her hands on her skirt. "I'm going to take out the pumpkin pie."

When everyone had eaten their fill of dessert, Sam and Steve offered to help clear the table and pack leftovers for everyone to take home, while Natasha, Clint, and—to everyone's surprise—Tony agreed to wash the dishes. Tony waved away Sharon and Peggy's offer to help, insisting that they go relax in the living room until everyone was done.

Natasha caught Steve as he was coming out of the bathroom. "Hey," he said, tensing.

"Steve," said Natasha, her expression unreadable. "Hello."

Steve sighed and stood up as straight as his crooked spine would allow. He jutted out his jaw and pushed his hair back from his face. "Are you here to threaten me? I already feel like shit about what happened with Bucky. So go ahead, add to the flaming wreckage of our short-lived relationship. It can't hurt."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Are you always this dramatic?"

"Yes," Steve snapped.

Natasha sighed, leaning against the wall casually. "For the record, James got home safe to Brooklyn, and he feels like shit too." Steve's shoulders started to slump, and Natasha shook her head sharply. "Listen to me, Rogers. Yes, he was angry at you, but he's angrier at himself for running off before he could process your explanation and apology. And now he's too ashamed to contact you because he thinks you're angry at him too."

"I'm not angry at him," Steve protested, "I'm angry at myself."

Natasha nodded. "That's what I thought you'd say." She breathed in once and exhaled slowly. "Look, there's no easy way to fix this."

"I know," said Steve miserably.

"I'm not here to play the middleman between you two. But if you want my honest opinion—you made him really happy, and I think you still could, if you two can work this out. And I think James knows that." Natasha glanced behind her briefly, pasting a smile on her face as Sam approached with a skeptical expression.

"Everything all right here?" asked Sam.

"Just fine," said Natasha brightly. "I'd better go to make sure Clint hasn't set anything on fire."

Sam let out a long breath as Natasha disappeared around the corner. "You all right?"

"A little better," Steve admitted, "What Natasha said, and Peggy, in the kitchen, it was…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "It was kind of hopeful.  But—there's nothing I can do till Bucky gets back in town." He scrubbed at his face with the palms of his hands, smiling weakly. "I'll try not to mope too much."

When Sam and Steve returned to the living room, Clint and Sharon were curled up in the armchairs, avidly watching the Turkey Bowl game, while Natasha and Peggy were on the couch, bending over a tablet and browsing through upcoming Black Friday deals for pocket knives. "That's a good brand," said Peggy, tapping the screen. "Easy to hide."

Sam and Steve exchanged an alarmed glance. Sam hesitantly sank down next to Natasha. "You mind if I join you? I want to watch the game, and this is the only spot left to sit."

"Go ahead," said Natasha with a smirk.

Steve wandered to the kitchen, where Tony was leaning against the counter, typing furiously on his phone with irritation radiating from every pore in his body.

"Hey," said Steve cautiously.

Tony jumped. "Hey! You need something?"

Steve shook his head. "Not really. Just, not that interested in football."

"Hmm, yeah," said Tony, "Me neither. Never really understood the appeal of a sport that encourages high chances of brain damage." He glanced at the group in the living room, then tapped his chin. "Hey. Do you know how to play chess?"

"Yes, why?"

"Mm," said Tony, "Okay, give me a minute."

Tony disappeared somewhere in the apartment, then returned ten seconds later bearing a dusty chess set. "All right, Rogers. Game on."

They played five rounds total, and Steve won four of them, much to Tony's chagrin. "Damn it, Rogers. Are you that good or are you just really lucky?"

Steve frowned, trying to figure out if he should be offended. "I just—think strategically, that's all."

"Where did you learn to play?"

"Um," said Steve, "the computer? I was out sick a lot as a kid. Ma had this old laptop with Windows games on it, and  since I had nothing better to do, I learned chess."

"You weren't part of chess club? You didn't have a chess tutor?"

"No and no," said Steve. "There are chess tutors? Really?"

Tony groaned and dropped his head in his hands theatrically. "It's a good thing you never met Dad as a kid. He would've adopted you and kicked me right out."

Peggy gathered them all for a photo as soon as it started to get dark. When everyone pulled out their cell phones, volunteering to take the selfie, Tony scoffed. "No need for that piddly tech," he announced, pulling a round, circular ball with a shiny lens out of his pocket and swiping rapidly on his phone with his other hand. "This little beauty can get detail from a distance. Aunt Peg, can I put this on your mantelpiece?"

Peggy narrowed her eyes at him. "What is that, Tony? It looks like a grenade."

"It's not a _grenade_ ," Tony protested. Natasha smirked.

"I think it looks more like the eye of Sauron," said Sharon, laughing. Sam snorted loudly, and Steve felt his lips curve up into a smile.

"Eye of Sauron?!" Tony exclaimed, obviously offended. He placed it on the mantelpiece without waiting for Peggy's answer. "It's a camera! A Bluetooth camera! Our high school intern Peter designed it. See?"

"You have a high school intern?" muttered Sam, looking disturbed.

Tony ignored him and tapped the screen of his phone, revealing a long-range view of everyone in the room. A light on top of the camera flared, making it look, indeed, like the Eye of Sauron. "Pretty awesome, right? It takes a photo from a distance, but you can preview how it'll look on your phone."

"So...it's like a selfie inception?" said Clint.

"Hey, I kinda like that, Barton," said Tony. "Selfie inception. Selfie-ception? Anyway, everyone gather round. You can all check your hair and makeup on the phone screen before I hit the button."

They ended up taking several photos at Peggy's insistence, starting off posed and smiling before devolving into spontaneous, silly antics. Tony's camera captured it all in high resolution and immediately uploaded it to an album in the cloud. When they'd all had enough, it was dark outside, and Peggy began ushering them all toward the door. "It's been lovely having you, but now it's time for you to safely go home. Everyone has their portion of the leftovers? Good. There should be enough to last you through the weekend."

Peggy hugged Steve tightly before he left. She whispered in his ear, "You deserve to be happy, Steve, even if you don't always believe it. Whatever happened, or is going to happen with James, don't be too hard on yourself."

"Thank you, Peggy," he whispered. "And thank you for having me."

"Of course." She placed a hand on his cheek, smiling gently. "You're like one of my own children, now. Get home safe."

The group dispersed at the parking lot. Tony waved goodbye and zoomed off in a sleek Audi before anyone could even wish him farewell, and Natasha and Clint climbed into Clint's ratty old Jeep Cherokee, which looked like it was two impacts away from dropping its engine on the ground. "See you around back at Shield," said Natasha wryly. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Sharon waited till everyone else had pulled out of the lot before making her way back to campus. She dropped Sam off at the ROTC dorm first, then parked in the garage next to Clint's ratty Jeep, yawning as she stepped out of the car. "Excuse me, sorry," she said to Steve, and she let out a small smile. "Did you have a good time?"

"I really did," said Steve, his voice echoing as they crossed the garage. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Of course," said Sharon. "You know, you're practically family now. Don't be afraid to ask for anything."

"Thanks."

They walked through the lobby and up the narrow staircase together, stopping just before the door to the fourth floor. "Good night, Steve," she said, hugging him tightly, "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Good night, Sharon. Happy Thanksgiving."

Steve spent the rest of his night alternately surfing Black Friday deals and working on his presidential portrait of Bucky. He looked up James Buchanan's presidential portrait to see if he could an extra layer of reference, but quickly decided that the background was wrong and that James Buchanan was a terrible president anyway. Instead, he turned his attention back to capturing the exact details of Bucky's face, carefully shading the hair falling softly against Bucky's temple.

When he checked his phone before going to bed, there were still no new messages from Bucky. Steve sighed, trying not to feel disappointed, and decided to send him a text anyway.

 _Hey Bucky, I hope your family's doing well and that you all had a good Thanksgiving._ Steve scrolled through the album Tony had shared, then downloaded the picture where they were all standing still and smiling at the camera. His thumb hovered over the attachment button for a long minute, and then he shook his head and read over his text again. _Good night,_ he finally added, _Sleep tight._

Steve forced himself to hit send and go to sleep before he could write _I miss you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
>   * Super Smash Brothers N64 - Sam and Steve play [Super Smash Brothers](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Super_Smash_Bros.). [Here](https://youtu.be/rIwWCioBpEM) is a video of the intro that shows up on the N64 console. You can find a list of characters [here](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Super_Smash_Bros.#Characters), including [Link](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Link_\(SSB\)) (Steve's usual choice), [Captain Falcon](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Captain_Falcon_\(SSB\)) (Sam's usual choice), [Donkey Kong](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Donkey_Kong_\(SSB\)), [Kirby](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Kirby_\(SSB\)), and [Pikachu](https://www.ssbwiki.com/Pikachu_\(SSB\)). I also want to give extra thanks to my beta W, who has a lot more experience with video games than I do and provided vital input for that scene.
>   * Bluetooth remote for a camera - You can actually control a camera with your smartphone or other various remote devices. [This article](https://www.howtogeek.com/361614/how-to-remotely-control-your-camera/) has more details.
>   * Turkey Bowl game - the Turkey Bowl refers to [high school football games played on Thanksgiving Day](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_football_on_Thanksgiving#High_school_football), often between two rival teams. It can also refer to informal backyard games, but those are not televised.
> 



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please heed the warnings in the tags.** See additional warnings in the end notes. The warnings do contain spoilers.

The next two days passed in a haze. Steve woke up around nine on Black Friday after a restless night, and he spent the morning surfing through online deals in his pajamas, buying himself a stock of winter wool socks, long-sleeved undershirts, and sweaters that he hoped wouldn't look too baggy on his skinny frame. He couldn't help checking his phone every hour, wondering what Bucky was doing and how he was feeling. Bucky had apparently read Steve's text last night—or at least opened it up long enough to make it go from unread to read. He might have also just selected it and marked it read without opening, but Steve didn't want to consider that possibility.

Around noon, Sam announced that he was awake via text, then told Steve it was the perfect time to start their long-overdue _Rocky_ movie marathon. _Don't even think about saying no, I know you have no excuse right now_ , Sam wrote. _Bring your food._

Steve sighed and got dressed, shoving his laptop in his bag and fetching his container of leftovers from the fridge. He and Sam got through the first five movies—nine total hours—before Steve couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

"Okay, it's bedtime for you," Sam declared. "We'll finish up tomorrow. There are two more left. Well, three if you count _Creed II_ , which hasn't been released yet on streaming or DVD."

"I'm working tomorrow," said Steve. "We're opening the café back up for the weekend during my shift."

"We'll continue when you're off-shift, then." Steve frowned, opening his mouth to argue, and Sam blew out a breath. "Look, man. I know Saturday nights are normally when you and Bucky watch Studio Ghibli at your place. Think of how miserable you're going to feel when you're sitting at home alone obsessing over whether he's going to text you back. It'll be good to get out of your head. Plus, I could use the company too, you know."

Steve deflated guiltily. He definitely hadn't been as good a friend to Sam as Sam had been to him lately. "Okay, Sam. I'll come over."

He spent another night tossing and turning, staying in bed as long as he could to try to get some sleep, and then he blearily dragged himself to work. Bruce was there covering for Sharon, who was out of town visiting her own parents with Peggy. "Hey, Steve," he said, smiling as he set up everything behind the counter. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

"Not bad," said Steve, covering a yawn. "Sorry. I, uh, haven't been sleeping well. How are you?"

"Glad to be back," Bruce said, a guilty look creeping over his face. "We um—we went to Betty's parents' place for a couple days. Her father and I—well, we didn't really fight, but we definitely don't hold the same values. I don't think I've ever met someone who makes me so angry." Bruce huffed a breath. "I hope he never finds out that I work here. I'm not ashamed of being a barista or of this place. This is just—one place he hasn't managed to get his hands on yet. Anyway, sorry, Steve. You don't need me dumping all my problems on you."

"It's all right," said Steve. "Hey, if he ever does come around, I'll stand up for you. Or hide you in the back office and pretend you're not here, which might be a better idea."

Bruce chuckled. "Thanks, Steve."

Their shift was surprisingly busy. Although most of the undergraduate students were still out of town, there were still plenty of overworked graduate students and harried post-docs on campus, desperately trying to grade assignments or make headway on research that never seemed to end. The constant flow of orders distracted Steve enough that he barely thought about Bucky the entire time. He only let himself into his apartment long enough to change out of his uniform shirt and look around with a pang of sadness before heading over to Sam's, where they dug into more leftovers and finished their movie marathon. Steve decided that the _Rocky_ movies were okay—and Sam's favorite character, Apollo Creed, was pretty attractive—but he wouldn't really choose to watch them again unless Sam insisted.

"Hey," said Sam before Steve left, "I hope you guys are able to talk tomorrow. You need any support—whatever time it is—I'll be there. I'll check in with you tomorrow night, see how things went."

Steve woke up early on Sunday morning with an odd sense of relief. He couldn't tell if it was due to sleep deprivation, the fact that Bucky was coming back today, or a combination of both. He used his mood to put the finishing touches on Bucky's presidential portrait and write up his analysis of its composition and subject, trying not too much think about the latter. After he'd finished those, he began reviewing old notes in preparation for his final exams, which were only a week away.

By 1 PM, Steve's sense of calm had dissipated and transformed into an all-consuming anxiety. Bucky should have arrived back in town by now, and he still hadn't texted Steve. Steve imagined all sorts of horrible scenarios—what if Bucky's bus crashed en route, what if he'd gotten injured, what if he'd decided not to come back—and he almost opened up NextDorm to message Natasha and Clint before he forced himself to back off and think clearly.

First, he checked the news reports about traffic; the only thing he found was reports on the usual gridlock that always occurred the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Next, he reasoned, if there were a serious emergency, surely Natasha would find a way to inform him somehow. He didn't trust her, but she cared about Bucky and she knew that he did too. Finally, if Bucky had decided not to come back - well, Steve would just have to stay heartbroken and let it go.

Steve's leftovers tasted like cardboard in his mouth as he forced himself to eat a late lunch at 2:15 PM. Before their horrible breakup, he and Bucky had agreed to meet at Bucky's at 3:30 for their usual Sunday afternoon movie. Now Steve wasn't sure if he should even show up. He briefly toyed with the idea of contacting Sam, and then his phone began ringing loudly with a number he didn't recognize. Steve almost didn't answer it, thinking it was a spam call, but then he saw that it had the DC area code and the usual string of numbers indicating a TU landline phone.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hello, Steve Rogers?" The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Yes," said Steve, "Who is this?"

"This is Phil from the Shield front desk. There's a James Barnes here to see you? Since he doesn't live here and he's not accompanied by anyone who does, I thought I'd check before letting him up."

"Oh," said Steve, his breath catching in his throat. He sat down hard on his desk chair, suddenly lightheaded.

"Is everything all right, Steve?"

"Y-yeah," Steve managed, "He can come up." He hung up before Phil could say anything else. Steve rubbed his eyes hard with the palms of his hands and took several deep breaths.

A tentative knock sounded on his door five minutes later.

Steve stared at the door for a minute, then lumbered across the room, his body feeling too small and too big all at once. He opened the door and stood there dumbly for a minute, staring.

Bucky was standing there, his shoulders hunched and his eyes downcast. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his frayed hoodie, letting his hair fall over his face as he said, "Hey, Steve."

"Hey, Buck," said Steve, tears springing to his eyes. He blinked them back and quickly cleared his throat. "Um—do you want to come in?"

"Okay," said Bucky, in a soft, uncertain voice.

Bucky hovered near the door as Steve shut it behind him, darting a glance at Steve before dropping his eyes back to the floor. He looked so tense that Steve felt his muscles starting to tighten just looking at him.

"Hey," said Steve, "You want to—how about we sit down," and he sank down onto the edge of his bed.

Bucky hesitantly perched in the desk chair, keeping a respectable distance between them. "Got your texts," he said, glancing at Steve.

Steve winced. "Sorry, I—I probably shouldn't have...you probably wanted to be left alone."

Bucky shook his head sharply, in a move reminiscent of Natasha. "No. Don't be sorry. I - I liked getting them."

"Oh," said Steve.

They sat for a long time in silence, listening to each other's breathing. Then Bucky took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry." He fisted his hands in the hem of his hoodie. "I shouldn't have run off that night. I—I know you never meant to hurt me."

"I'm sorry, too, Bucky," said Steve, frowning in puzzlement as Bucky's hunched shoulders moved even further upward toward his ears. "I - I should have told you that I'd found out that information about HYDRA and the lawsuit from the very beginning. It was wrong to keep that hidden from you. I hurt you, and—I am so sorry, Bucky. I really am."

Bucky worried his lip, silent, and then said, "It—it wasn't okay, what you did, but I forgive you. And, and I believe that you didn't do it as some sort of...scheme."

"Okay," said Steve, a spark of hope lighting within him. "I'm glad." He cast about for what to say next, trying not to sound too hurt as he continued. "You—I mean. I—I understand if you don't want anything to do with me anymore. But I—I'd still like to be your friend, Bucky. Or more, if you want that too. But—I want to support you. And if that means...if that means never talking to you again, or if that means...something different, I—I'll do it. For you."

Bucky let out a choked, hurt noise. "Steve," he said, his voice cracking. "I—" He sucked in a huge breath, meeting Steve's eyes for the first time. "There are things…" He dropped his hands into his lap. "Things I should have told you from the beginning. You deserve to know the truth."

Bucky unzipped his hoodie and took it off, carefully setting it aside on the desk. Then, before Steve had a chance to say a single word, he pulled his long-sleeved T-shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor. He closed his eyes, shaking minutely as Steve surveyed the pale, raised scars spanning from Bucky's left shoulder all the way down to his wrist. The only distinguishable one was a huge star in his bicep; the rest were all criss-crossing lines.

"Bucky," Steve whispered. He gently took Bucky's hand, and Bucky's eyes snapped open, wild and frightened. When Steve tried to let go, Bucky's hand tightened around his. "Bucky, hey, it's—you're shivering. You want your shirt back?" Steve bent forward and picked up the shirt, pressing it into Bucky's hand. Bucky reluctantly let go of Steve and took it, clumsily pulling it over his head. Some of the tension drained from his body as his left arm got covered up again.

"Sorry," said Bucky, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Hey," said Steve, "You have nothing to be sorry for. And—you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Bucky. Whatever happened with HYDRA...it doesn't make me think any less of you."

A brittle smile flashed across Bucky's face. He played with the hem of his shirt and said, "I started at TU when I was 18. I was just—a regular freshman, you know? And things went really well for a while. I was doing great in classes and making friends, continuing with archery and even considering a couple dance classes...but then I, I um, I got curious. I started going to frat parties. I started drinking. HYDRA had this—this Labor Day party, and that's how I first got introduced to them. They were—they were okay, I mean, they were assholes, but I had _fun_." Bucky grimaced in disgust. "They asked me to pledge. But I didn't want to spend the time or money to join a fraternity, so I told them no." Bucky's voice shook. "They didn't like that."

"Nothing happened for a while, but then I started getting these...these weird messages through Facebook and Instagram and other social media apps. At first they were just random insults, and I figured it was just some bot or some kind of viral campus prank. Some of them were even kind of clever and funny. But then at the end of September, they started becoming scarier, more threatening. Not specific to me, but...creepy sayings like, 'Order can only be learned through pain.' I tried reporting it to the campus police, but they said they couldn't do anything, so I just tried to block all the numbers the messages came from."

Bucky took a deep, noisy breath in and out of his nose. "I...I never suspected it was HYDRA. I was so _stupid_." He shook his head, his hair falling forward back over his face. "I went to their, um, their party right before Fall Break. Mid-October. And they - they asked me to play this drinking game. I wasn't going home till the next day, so I figured, 'why not'?"

"The objective of the game was to shoot a Nerf gun and knock over plastic bottles on a table. It was a hard game, especially when you were drunk, but I was really good. I think it was because I had all that practice from archery in high school. Anyway, they kept egging me on, trying to get me wasted enough to miss, but I didn't. They, uh, they nicknamed me the Winter Soldier, and they even did a toast. Then they asked me to pledge again. I said no. "

"I don't remember a lot of what happened next. One minute I was standing there with the Nerf gun, and the next I was on the floor. I couldn't move and my left arm felt like it was—it was in agony. I couldn't tell what was happening, but I knew it was bad. I tried to stand up, to get out, but—there were people holding me down, not letting me go."

Bucky's hands shook, and Steve grasped them in his own, slowly maneuvering Bucky so that Bucky was sitting on the bed. Bucky clung onto him tightly, taking deep, shuddering breaths as Steve curled his arms around Bucky's waist. "You don't have to keep going, Bucky," Steve whispered.

Bucky shook his head. "I want to tell you. I want to finish." He sniffled loudly and pulled back, tucking his hair behind his ears. "I woke up in the hospital. My left arm and my shoulder...they...they were all carved up. Not, you know—not enough to need amputation, or anything, but—every time I tried to move it, I'd pass out from pain. I couldn't use it, I couldn't lift it. Some of the cuts were infected. I didn't know what had happened. Turns out someone found me unconscious in a park five miles from campus, lying shirtless in the cold."

Steve squeezed Bucky's hand. Bucky's voice was thick as he continued, "My parents came, and so did the police. I knew HYDRA had done it, so I pressed charges. But the HYDRA members denied anything happened, they denied I was even there, and they had this great lawyer named Alexander Pierce." Bucky spat out the name, then let out an ugly, bitter laugh.

"Pierce made it seem like I'd tried to commit suicide. I'd been valedictorian in high school, and a student athlete, and I was in the Honors Program on a famous scholarship and he...he took that, he twisted it, told the judge that the pressure of being a high achiever had finally gotten to me, that being in college was...was too much for me to handle. I was on so many painkillers at that point, I could hardly string two words together. It was easy for Pierce to make the case."

"Wait, I know that name," said Steve slowly. "Alexander Pierce. Isn't that the guy who made that huge endowment recently? To fund the new practice field for the football team?"

Bucky nodded, his mouth twisting. "Yeah, that's him. When I heard about the endowment..." He let out another strangled laugh. "That was a bad day. It was the day I ordered that pizza, actually. The one that got delivered to you." Bucky huffed a laugh. "Anyway, eventually we reached a confidential settlement. I went home and took a medical leave for the rest of the semester, and the semester following that too. My parents...they got me all sorts of specialists. PT—um, physical therapy, and a shrink, and this special pain management program through Mount Sinai. We had insurance, and some stuff from the settlement, but..." Bucky looked sick with guilt. "Everything was still...still really expensive. I still feel so fucking _guilty_. If I just hadn't been so naive, if I just hadn't gone to that party..."

"Bucky," Steve said, "None of that was your fault."

"I know," said Bucky, his eyes glimmering with tears, "but I still _did_ it. I'm the one who went and got drunk and just…" His voice trailed off, and he swiped a hand across his face, then whispered, "I'm the one who fucked up in the first place."

"If you want to blame anyone, blame those—those fucking _bastards_ at HYDRA," said Steve. "I can't believe they did that to you."

"I heard later that they turned it into a game. That instead of knocking plastic bottles off a table with a Nerf gun, the new rule was to...to cut me up. Try to...make it scar."

Bucky's face crumpled, and Steve pulled him into another hug, letting Bucky's tears soak his sweater. The damp patch was uncomfortable, but Steve didn't care. "I'm so sorry, Bucky," he whispered, running one hand up and down Bucky's back. His other curled in a fist, and his nails dug into his palm as rage rushed through his blood. "Fuck, Bucky. If I could, I'd _kill_ them for you. I wouldn't even blink."

Bucky huffed a strangled laugh, his voice muffled against Steve's shoulder. "I've—I've thought about it. But they're not worth me—or you—going to prison for the rest of my life."

He let out another shuddering breath. "I wasn't going to come back here at all. My parents and I, we made a plan for me to transfer schools...I'd lost my scholarship here, and I was pretty gutted over that...but—part of me wanted to show HYDRA I'd survived. That they hadn't ruined my life completely. So I...I came back this summer. I met Natasha, and then Clint, and—they really helped me get through a lot. They, um, they've been through some stuff in the past too. We...we made a pact to...to live our lives the way we wanted. To show the people who'd hurt us that they didn't have power over us anymore. Natasha likes to say that she's living out of spite." Bucky's lips quirked in a small smile, and he glanced at Steve from underneath his lashes. "Sometimes I get the feeling that you're doing the same thing."

"Yeah," Steve said, with a small laugh, "That sounds about right." He let the rage leak out of him—it'd come back later, and he'd scream and shout and maybe try to punch it out onto his pillow then—but right now, this was about Bucky. He pulled back to meet Bucky's gaze. "You're incredible, you know that? You beat the assholes. They wanted you to—to crawl away, to be scared off forever, but you—you _came back_ and you're thriving. You've got good friends, you're doing well in your classes, you're working and teaching others...hell, you're even still doing archery even though they attacked you because you were too good at it. You _won_."

Bucky dropped his eyes to his lap and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I don't always feel that way," he said quietly, "especially when the arm's been acting up. And the—the scars…" He made a tiny, hurt sound, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. "They make me feel so ugly. They remind me of how stupid I was. If I'd just been a little smarter, a little less trusting, none of this would have happened."

Steve took Bucky's left hand and gently rubbed his thumb along the knuckles. "I hate that you had to go through that, Bucky. I hate that you were in so much pain—that you still are sometimes. It fucking sucks. But—Bucky. The scars, the arm, they're a part of you. And I like _you_. Every part, scarred or not."

Bucky's breath hitched, and he swallowed a sob. "Okay," he said softly.

Steve pulled him into another hug. He poured everything he felt for Bucky—admiration, longing, _love—_ into the space between them, running a soothing hand up and down Bucky's spine as Bucky muffled his sobs against Steve's shoulder. "I've got you, Buck," he whispered, "I've got you."

Bucky's shuddering breaths gradually slowed until he was limp in Steve's arms. Steve stroked Bucky's hair, and Bucky sighed into the crook of his neck, his breath tickling Steve's ear.

"I ruined your sweater," Bucky said, his voice muffled. He lifted his head and looked at Steve with red-rimmed eyes, his mouth pulled down in a guilty frown. "Sorry."

"It'll wash out," said Steve. "Don't worry about it."

Bucky heaved a deep breath and snagged a tissue, turning away to blow his nose. "Thank you, Steve. Can I -" He gestured toward the bathroom. "I'm going to clean up a little."

"Go ahead," said Steve. "I'll be here."

When Bucky emerged, his face was still flushed and his eyes were swollen, but his eyes looked bright with relief and hope. He sat back down on the bed and said, quietly, "Hey."

"Hey," said Steve.

"Steve," he said, chewing his lip, "Do you—do you still want to be boyfriends?"

Steve's eyes widened in surprise. "Yes," he said, "Do you?"

Bucky nodded. "Yes. I really want to. But Steve, you—you have to understand. Sometimes I have bad days...I can't get out of bed. I have nightmares and flashbacks, and—I'm always in a little bit of pain. I've tried to hide it from you, but—I can't always do that."

Steve's heart broke at the fear in Bucky's eyes. "There's no need to hide it, Bucky. I'll support you whatever way you can." He held Bucky's gaze until the fear finally dissipated, then continued, "I—I don't always have good days either. I have scoliosis, which makes my back ache strangely sometimes, and I get asthma attacks. I've got—I've got trouble believing people want to be around me, though that's getting a little better. But you've supported me through some of that already. I want to do the same for you."

Bucky nodded. "Okay," he whispered. He darted a nervous glance at Steve. "Can I—can I kiss you?"

"Yeah, Bucky," said Steve, a smile spreading over his face. "Kiss me right now."

Bucky's lips curved into a smile, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Steve's.

They kissed chastely and gently for a while, both of them too exhausted to go any further. Then, when Bucky's stomach started growling, Steve pulled out his Thanksgiving leftovers and heated them up in the microwave. He took a small portion for himself and letting Bucky finish the rest.

"Are you sure, Steve?" asked Bucky, frowning. "I don't want to take all your food."

"I'll be fine, Buck," Steve assured him. "You're the one who hasn't had lunch."

Bucky ate quickly, sighing reluctantly when he scooped the last of the turkey off his plate. "I've got to go soon. I promised myself I'd talk to you, and then I promised everyone—Natasha, Clint, and my family—that I'd let them know how this conversation went. I - I hope it's okay that I tell them."

"Of course," said Steve. "Sam was going to check up on me, too."

Bucky nodded. "We both have good friends. And an _excellent_ boyfriend." He waggled his eyebrows and smirked at Steve. "Don't you agree?"

Steve groaned. "I cannot believe you just made that joke, Buck."

"I know," said Bucky, looking slightly embarrassed as he pulled on his shoes, "but you have to admit, it worked."

Steve sighed dramatically. "Is this what I've signed myself up for? Terrible jokes?"

"Too late now, you're committed," said Bucky, standing and zipping up his hoodie. He brushed a thumb over Steve's cheek affectionately and then swooped down to kiss him. "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Bucky," said Steve, leaning against the door as Bucky stepped into the hallway. "I'll see you Tuesday?"

"Yeah, I'll text you," said Bucky. He shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled at Steve, a soft, gentle thing. "Bye, Steve."

"Bye, Bucky."

Steve watched Bucky disappear down the hallway, then shut the door and sank down against it, his giddy smile threatening to split his face apart. He crossed the room with quick strides and grabbed his phone where he'd left it abandoned on the desk.

 _Hey Sam_ , he texted, _Bucky and I talked. Things are going to be okay._

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 26, 5:02 PM: _!!!!_ _That's great, man! You wanna talk about it?_

 _Tomorrow?_ Steve replied. _Right now I need some time to think._

Sam Wilson, Sun Nov 26, 5:03 PM: _OK, man. I'm happy for you! See you tomorrow._

 _Thanks, see you,_ Steve wrote, then quickly added, _Oh, and say hi to Riley for me when he gets back._

Sam sent him a thumbs-up.

Steve let out a hysterical laugh and dropped his face in his hands, trying to calm his racing heart as the emotions he'd been suppressing washed over him in a flood. Chief among them were rage against HYDRA, for what they had done to Bucky, and grief at what Bucky had lost that night and all the months afterward. But there was also an overwhelming joy flowing through his veins he couldn't remember feeling since his mother died, stemming from a combination of relief that Bucky had forgiven him, reverence at the strength of Bucky's character, and astonishment that Bucky still wanted him.

Steve spent a few minutes getting his breath under control, then spent the rest of the night channeling his energy into cleaning, studying, sketching. Then, driven by an urge he couldn't explain, he looked at the photo of his mother, put in _My Neighbor Totoro_ into his laptop, and cried himself into an exhausted stupor that sent him straight to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings:  
> 
> 
> * Legal injustice, gaslighting, manipulation: Bucky recalls HYDRA's defense attorney portraying Bucky as suicidal, depressed, and unstable. Bucky reaches a settlement with HYDRA over his injuries but HYDRA does not receive punishment for what they have done to him.
> * Cyberbullying: Bucky describes receiving threatening text messages and instant messages through social media from anonymous perpetrators.
> * Parallel to a real-life case: My beta W pointed out that Bucky’s experience with HYDRA bears similarities to the story of [Matthew Shepard](https://www.matthewshepard.org/about-us/). This was not a conscious choice on my part and I mean no disrespect to Matthew Shepard's memory, family, or legacy.


	10. Chapter 10

It was surprisingly easy to pick things back up.

Steve still met Bucky the following Tuesday and Thursday at the library. Both of them put their noses to the grindstone as they attempted to cram a semester's worth of information into their heads; Steve didn't even take his tablet out once. Their classes became long review sessions run by TAs, or, in the case of Steve's History Seminar and art and design class, a free session of office hours and studio time, respectively.

As Bucky's schedule filled with a series of last-minute tutoring sessions from younger students desperately trying to salvage their grades or assuage their anxieties over exams, Steve's shifts at the cafébecame filled with long queues of stressed, sleep-deprived students looking for their next sugar and caffeine fix. Steve did his best to serve them all with an encouraging smile. It wasn't the most natural expression on his face, but he doggedly plastered it on anyway. It was better than letting his stress bleed into theirs.  
  
"Steve, you should stop smiling. You look like Patrick Bateman," Bruce whispered to him on Friday night.  
  
"Who?" Steve asked through gritted teeth.  
  
"That guy from _American Psycho_ ," said Bruce. "Did you switch shifts with Sharon again?"  
  
"Yeah," said Steve. "The art department's student showcase is tomorrow night. I'm taking Bucky to see it."  
  
"Oh," said Bruce. "That's the guy who comes to pick you up every Saturday, right? Sharon told me about him. It sounds like things are going well between you two?"  
  
Steve nodded, his smile transforming into something more genuine. "Yeah, actually. Things are going great."  
  
"Good," said Bruce. "I'm glad. Are any of your works in the showcase?"  
  
"No," said Steve with a small laugh. "None of my stuff's good enough to be featured. I just thought it would be a fun, relaxing thing to do before finals."  
  
Bucky met Steve in the Shield lobby the following night. He greeted Steve with a hug and a quick kiss, then smiled sheepishly. "So I might have mentioned the showcase to Natasha," he said, scuffing the toes of his boots on the ground, "and now—"  
  
"We're going to be joining you," said Natasha behind Steve's back.  
  
Steve wheeled around slowly.  
  
"Hi, Natasha," he said, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. He hadn't talked to her since Thanksgiving.  
  
"Hey, Rogers," she said, popping her bubble gum with practiced ease as she tossed her hair out of her face. She casually buttoned up her tan double-breasted jacket and asked, "Mind if Barton and I come along?"  
  
"Not at all," said Steve dryly. "The more the merrier, right?"  
  
"Great," she said with an amused quirk of her lips. "I'll tell him to hurry up."  
  
It took Clint another ten minutes to finally get down to the lobby. His spiky blond hair was in disarray, and he was hurriedly trying to smooth out his faded, wrinkled purple shirt underneath his black striped hoodie. "Sorry," he panted, "Dog emergency."

"You have a dog?" asked Steve.

Clint waved a hand and made a small, questioning noise. "Sort of? I kind of co-own a dog. It's complicated. Want to see a picture?" He didn't wait for a response as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed Steve a photo of a friendly-looking golden retriever with a pizza crust in its mouth. "That's Lucky. Originally named Arrow, but I decided that was a stupid name, so he's Lucky now."

"He likes pizza?"

"Oh, he loves it," said Clint. "He's always stealing mine."

Steve hummed under his breath, a suspicion blooming in the back of his mind as he recalled the half-eaten pizza slices on the stairwell. "Right," he said, "Let's go."

Sam and Riley joined them as they passed the ROTC dorm on their cross-campus trek to the event.

"Wow, it's a party," Sam commented, raising his eyebrows at Steve. Steve shrugged at him and gave him a resigned look. Sam gave him a tiny shrug back.

Riley held out his hand to Bucky. "I'm Riley, Sam's roommate," he said. "I don't think we've officially met before."

"James Barnes," said Bucky, shaking Riley's hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Steve's boyfriend." Steve blushed as Bucky slipped a hand into his.

"Oh, nice! Congratulations," said Riley. "Man, I've been out of the loop. When did you two get together?"

Steve glanced at Bucky quickly, who smiled and squeezed his hand. "Couple months ago. Steve accidentally got something of mine, and he made a special delivery just for me to get it back."

Conversation flowed naturally as they all walked through the quad toward the south edge of campus. As Natasha and Sam bonded over the latest set of loot boxes from _Overwatch_ and Riley and Clint debated the merits of creating a robot that could make the perfect Nerf gun shot, Bucky and Steve walked hand-in-hand, listening to their friends' conversations and smiling at each other.

"This was a good idea," said Bucky, slinging an arm around Steve's shoulders as the art department building came into view. "I'm excited to see what's inside."

Steve sucked in a startled breath when they walked through the doors. The lobby of the art department, normally a drab, industrial space with high exposed ceilings, fluorescent lights, and crowded plastic furniture, had been transformed into a beautiful, warmly lit venue for the showcase. Fairy lights were strung across the the room, and there was a huge projection against one wall of various digital art pieces. Other works, organized by type of medium, stood on easels or were pinned on poster boards that had been scattered across the room. A long table at the center held huge fruit and vegetable plates, along with various cheese and cracker combinations. Another smaller table off to the side held three metal beverage dispensers and a stack of cups.

Clint made a beeline for the food table. Natasha rolled her eyes and followed him, but she headed for the drinks instead, making herself a cup of something hot. Sam and Riley wandered over to the paintings section, leaving Bucky and Steve in front of the projections of digital art.

It came as a huge surprise to them both when Steve's presidential portrait of Bucky appeared on the wall. Steve stood frozen as Bucky gasped and stepped forward to read the caption.

> A Study in Dignity, by Steven Grant Rogers (digital oil painting, fall 2018)
> 
> This pastiche of a presidential portrait in the National Portrait Gallery features an unnamed subject sitting deep in thought in front of a gothic window. This work is intended to capture the quiet determination of a man who has never lost his integrity in the face of adversity.

"Steve," Bucky breathed. "Is that me?"

"Um," said Steve, his face hot, "Uh. Yes. I'm so sorry, Bucky, I had no idea they'd put it up here, it was my very last assignment—"

"No, don't be sorry," said Bucky. He went quiet for a moment, chewing his lip. "It's a good likeness. I don't remember posing—did you do this from memory, or…"

Steve's heart pounded loudly. "I did the basic outline one day in the library when we were together. And then I added all the details over Thanksgiving when you were, um, home. I hope that's okay."

Bucky's eyes crinkled, and his mouth curved into a smile. "It's great. Thank you." He pulled Steve in closer to him and took out his phone. "Let's take a selfie in front of it before the slide changes. Ma will be thrilled to see me as president."

"Oh," said Steve, tensing, "well, I can just take a picture of you—"

"Don't be stupid, Rogers, you both have to be in it," said Natasha, appearing suddenly on Bucky's right and plucking the phone out of his hand. "I'll take it. Also, by the way—nice work, Rogers."

Steve thanked her, then held himself stiffly at Bucky's side as Natasha snapped a few photos. She sighed and lowered Bucky's phone. "Unclench your jaw and lower your shoulders, Rogers. You look like you don't even like James."

Steve cleared his throat and tried to make his muscles relax. "Um. Sorry?"

"Steve," said Bucky, squeezing Steve's shoulder. "Look at me for a sec?"

Steve did. Some of Bucky's hair had slipped free from the low bun at the base of his neck, framing his face beautifully in the glow of the projector.  "Hey," said Bucky, smiling softly.

"Hey," said Steve, smiling back.

Bucky gently brushed his thumb along Steve's cheekbone. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," said Steve, leaning into the touch with a small sigh. He brushed his hair off his forehead. "Sorry. I just—hate how I look in photos. Especially posed ones. My nose always looks crooked, and my jaw looks too small, and I just—sorry."

"You look just fine to me," said Bucky. He tapped Steve's nose and jaw, then cupped the back of Steve's skull, gently brushing his fingers against the hair at the nape of Steve's neck. "I like your nose. And your jaw. And everything about you, actually. Even the parts you don't like."

"Bucky," said Steve, blushing hard.

Bucky leaned down to whisper in Steve's ear. "Can I kiss you? I want to. I don't care that we're in public."

"Okay," whispered Steve. He tilted his head up, feeling strangely vulnerable, and sighed as Bucky's lips brushed against his.

"PDA alert! PDA alert! The cutest couple on campus is kissing!"

Steve whirled around and found himself face-to-face with Tony. The slide on the projector changed in the next second, lighting Tony's face with red and gold.

"Stark, I'm going to _kill_ you," Natasha hissed, stalking up to Tony and flicking his shoulder hard.

"Ow! What did I do?" Tony asked.

"Ruined the moment, you idiot," she said, glaring.

"I completely disagree," said Tony. "I was sharing the moment with everyone! Sharing the love!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Here, James, I got some good shots. I'm going to find Clint, make sure he hasn't accidentally destroyed a display somewhere. I'll find you all later." She handed Bucky's phone back to him and then disappeared into the crowd.

"Do you need something, Tony?" asked Steve.

"Well, _Steve_ ," said Tony, "I actually haven't met your boyfriend yet. I mean, we've sort of met—we've been passing like ships in the night in the engineering building, but we haven't officially been introduced. Hi, I'm Tony Stark. But I think you probably knew that already, since you were at the party in the Tower. And you are...?"

"James Barnes," said Bucky, holding out his right hand.

Tony twitched. "Sorry. I don't like being handed things. Ha. Hands! Hold on a sec." Tony cleared his throat, then extended his own hand. "Okay, I'm ready."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, but he shook Tony's hand anyway. "Nice to officially meet you."

"And you," said Tony. He dropped Bucky's hand and shifted on his feet. "So, Barnes. I hear you're from the magnificent state of New York, like me and Steve here."

"Yes," said Bucky slowly. "Why?"

"Well," said Tony, clearing his throat and puffing out his chest, "I'm having this little shindig for New Year's Eve. Technically, my parents are having one, but the Mansion's big enough that we can all relegate ourselves to the kiddie table at the other side of the house and still have a good time. You're coming, right? Both of you?"

"Um," said Bucky. "I—I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Text me your address, I'll send you a car," said Tony, and he quickly rattled off his cell number.

"Thanks?" said Bucky.

"You're welcome. Rogers, you're invited too. Wilson told me you're staying with him in Harlem, but he didn't know what you were planning to do that night. I already invited him too, but he said he had to take his sisters to Times Square or something lame like that. Anyway, again, text me the address, and I'll send a car to do the rounds and pick everyone up. Anyone's welcome stay overnight - we've got plenty of guest rooms."

"Thanks, Tony," said Steve dryly. "I'll um...I'll think about it."

"Be there or be square!" Tony declared, pointing his finger at them and walking backwards directly into James Rhodes.

"Dude," Rhodes sighed. "Tony. We've talked about this. Does the term 'situational awareness' ring a bell?"

"Sorry, Rhodey," said Tony, not looking or sounding the least bit contrite. "I forgot why I came over here. Got distracted by that lovely painting of President James Barnes. Have you seen it? Steve here did it. Wait. I feel like I was supposed to be...getting something? For you and Pepper?"

"Drinks, Tony," said Rhodes. "You were supposed to be getting drinks. And food."

"Food? Oh, shit. Pepper's going to kill me, isn't she? On a scale of one to ten—ten being the greatest value—how hangry is she?"

"I'd say about a seven," said Rhodes.

Tony blanched. "Oh, shit, okay. I'm going. You two—text me!"

Bucky stifled a laugh as he watched Tony rush to fill a plate with food. "I think I might go to that party," he said, waggling his eyebrows, "especially if you'll be there."

Steve laughed. "Is that a line, Bucky?"

Bucky grinned sheepishly. "Did it work?"

"Maybe," said Steve, tilting his head up and kissing Bucky lightly.

A pleased smile spread across Bucky's face. "What was that for?"

Steve's cheeks heated. "Just felt like it. Is that okay?"

"Definitely," said Bucky, "you can do that anytime you want. Hey, we haven't looked at any other exhibitions in here. Want to roam around?"

"Sure," said Steve.  
  
Steve ended his weekend with one last movie night (and kissing session) at Bucky's, and then it was time for final exams. The next two weeks proceeded in a dreary, endless cycle of studying, taking exams, snacking, sleeping, and working. Steve and Bucky celebrated the end of the semester by going to Asgard Pizza, trying to use up some soon-to-be-expired coupons Bucky had gotten in the mail.

Steve hadn't been back to Asgard since trying to get Bucky's pizza delivered to him, and he felt a twinge of guilt as he spotted the mural Thor had mentioned at the Halloween party a few months ago. Bright, flashy splashes of paint outlined a towering, floating space city that vaguely resembled the pipes of a church organ. A bright rainbow bridge that Steve recognized as the Bifrost - and Asgard's logo - stretched out all the way along the wall and around the corner to the front door.

"This is awesome," said Bucky, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. "I like the colors."

Steve nodded in agreement.

A tall, muscular black woman named Val seated them in the back corner. "My favorite spot," said Bucky happily, draping his jacket over the back of his chair and sitting down. His eyes sparkled as he leaned forward and took Steve's hand. "Hey, Steve. Guess what I'm going to order."

"I don't know, Buck," said Steve, feigning thoughtfulness as he tapped his chin. "Hmm. Something small. Just enough for one person. And...kind of healthy, but not a salad…"

"You're getting pretty close," said Bucky, grinning. "You got a guess?"

"A...pan-sized Veggie Valkyrie pizza?"

"You got it," Bucky said. "But I'm not going to get it delivered this time. I've got everything I need right here. Good spot, good food, and the perfect boyfriend." He leaned over and pecked Steve's lips. Steve smiled and squeezed Bucky's hand, startling a little when Bucky's sneaker-covered feet tangled with his under the table.

"Sorry," said Bucky. "Too much?"

"No," Steve said, squeezing Bucky's hand. "It's okay. I like it."

Thor greeted them exuberantly as he came to take their order. His face lit up when Bucky and Steve complimented the mural. "I'll send my regards to the artist!"

"Who is the artist?" asked Bucky.

Thor gave them a shifty look. "I'd better get your order back to the kitchen. I'll be back soon." He rushed off before they could respond.

"Well, that wasn't suspicious at all," said Steve, as their host Val breezed past their table in a whirlwind of anger.

"Heimdall!" she shouted, pushing open the kitchen doors behind Bucky.

Heimdall came out and raised an eyebrow at her. "Val?"

Val sighed and rolled her eyes. "Loki delivered the wrong order _again_. Just thought I'd let you know  that this is the tenth angry phone call this month. He's wasting our time. I'm starting to think he's f—sorry, screwing with us on _purpose_. Out of sheer spite."

Heimdall looked thoughtful. "I'll talk to him. Come on, let's discuss this in the back, away from customers."

"Loki?" Steve mouthed at Bucky, his eyes wide.

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe that's the artist? We could ask Thor."

"I'm not sure he'd like that," said Steve, tilting his head as the rumblings of Thor's voice started underneath the usual blare of dishwasher and clinking plates in the kitchen. "Last time I asked him about Loki, he got pretty tight-lipped."

Bucky shrugged, smiling wryly. "We can leave it alone. I'm pretty familiar with wanting to keep a secret."

They got their usual order of chicken salad and veggie pizza, discussed the highs and lows of their exams and their semesters, and then split the bill for dinner, leaving a generous tip for Thor. When they got outside, they studied the mural for another moment before Bucky asked, "What now?" He shivered and pulled his pea coat more tightly around himself as a chilly wind blew through the gravel lot.

Steve quickly buttoned up his own coat and shoved his hands into his pockets to conserve warmth. "I don't know," he admitted. "You're leaving tomorrow, right?"

Bucky nodded. "Taking the Greyhound bright and early with Natasha and Clint. You're going Sunday with Sam?"

"Yeah," said Steve. "But we'll meet up over the break?"

"Of course," said Bucky, worrying his lip. "Hey, um, for tonight...maybe we could hang out, and you could, um—you could stay over? I've got an extra toothbrush and everything. I'll walk you back to Shield in the morning when it's light out, since I'm meeting Natasha and Clint there anyway."

Steve blushed all the way down to his toes. "Bucky," he said, his voice cracking.

"But no pressure," said Bucky, looking anxious. "If this is too fast...I, I didn't mean—I mean, we don't have to do anything you don't want."

"I," said Steve, his words getting caught in his throat. "No, Bucky. God. I _do._  I do want. I want you. So much."

"Okay," said Bucky, his eyes lighting up. "Do you want to, um—pick up anything from Shield, or…"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, let's stop by there first."

"Okay."

They made a quick stop at Steve's apartment, where Steve packed a set of clothes and a few other essentials in his backpack, and then they headed back to Bucky's place. During the bus ride, Steve hesitantly pressed his thigh against Bucky's, his heart racing as he glimpsed flashes of Bucky's smile through the muted yellow light of passing streetlamps. The pair of them walked quickly to Bucky's apartment complex, their hands in their pockets to spare them from the cold, and in no time at all they were pushing through his door. They quickly shed their coats and shoes as the warmth of the room hit them in full force.

"I'm going to kiss you now," said Bucky, a wild look in his eyes. "Please, can I?"

"Do it," said Steve. "Do it right now."

Bucky's lips crashed against his. Steve groaned, opening his mouth to let Bucky in as he threw his arms up around Bucky's neck, pressing closer to him. Bucky sighed and licked Steve's bottom lip, and Steve whimpered, kissing him back messily and backing them both toward the bed. Bucky huffed a laugh as they stumbled over his packed suitcase on the way over. He broke away for a moment to kick the suitcase back toward the wall, then walked backward until the back of his knees hit the mattress. "Come here," he said, swinging his legs up toward the mattress and crossing them in front of himself.

Steve obliged him, getting onto the bed and mirroring Bucky's position. They kissed for a while like that, chastely, until Steve got impatient and lifted himself up onto his knees, moving to straddle Bucky's lap. "Is this okay?" he asked, taking in Bucky's wide-eyed expression.

"Yeah," Bucky breathed, scooting backward until he was leaning against the wall. His cheeks reddened as he spread his legs and held out his arms. "Come here?"

Steve crawled into the V of Bucky's legs, gasping at the hardness that pressed against his thigh. Bucky groaned, letting his head fall back, and Steve took the opportunity to press a hot, wet kiss against the underside of his jaw. He worked his way down, kissing and licking and nipping his way down Bucky's neck until he reached his collarbone. Bucky shuddered and gasped beneath him, clutching Steve's shirt convulsively as he rutted against Steve's thigh, his hips jerking upward in little aborted motions. "Steve," he whispered. "Steve, I need—hold on—"

Steve backed up, taking a deep breath. "Sorry," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry, Buck -"

"No, no, don't apologize," said Bucky. "Just—I want to..." He chewed his lip. "I want to touch you. And I want...if you're okay with it...I want to see you with your shirt off."

Steve looked down at himself, his heart pounding nervously.  "Okay," he said. He looked down at his shirt and sweater, screwed up his courage, and then pulled both off over the top of his head, jutting out his jaw and fixing his gaze on the wall as Bucky scrutinized him. "Like what you see?"

"Yeah, Steve," said Bucky softly, skating his fingers along Steve's ribs. "You're gorgeous." He kissed the corner of Steve's mouth, tilting his head so he could kiss Steve properly. "I know you probably don't believe me, but it's true." He ran his hands down Steve's back, cupping Steve's waist and pulling him closer. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," said Steve. He let his head fall against Bucky's shoulder as Bucky pressed his thumbs into Steve's neck, massaging out the tension of the past few weeks. "Oh," he sighed, "That feels good."

"Good," said Bucky, kissing Steve's neck. "Get comfortable. I want to make you feel good. But if you want me to stop, say something and I will."

Steve lay down on his side. Bucky pressed soft, warm kisses against his neck, then slowly traveled lower until Steve could feel his hot breath against his left nipple. When Bucky licked experimentally, Steve yelped, arching his back and bucking upwards. Bucky laughed and did it again. "Is that good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Steve breathed.

Words soon failed him as Bucky continued his ministrations. Bucky gently brushed his thumb against Steve's other nipple, then gave it the same treatment with his mouth, pausing to take a breath before moving lower. He brushed his lips against the skin under Steve's ribs, making Steve huff a laugh, and then skimmed his fingers across Steve's belly. Steve whimpered as his cock ached within his too-tight jeans. His skin felt like a live wire, the heat in his blood a current that was jolted with each teasing touch from Bucky's hands and mouth.

Bucky pulled back, his eyes gleaming. "Need a little help?" he asked, eyeing Steve's cock.

"Y-yeah," Steve choked out. He tugged gently on the hem of Bucky's sweater with his thumb and index finger. "But wait. Let me - let me see you too?"

Bucky tensed, the light in his eyes dimming.

"Sorry," said Steve, his heart sinking. "I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's," said Bucky. "It's fine." He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then he pulled his sweater and his shirt over his head with one hand, revealing a muscular chest and flat, soft abs lightly dusted with dark hair. He rubbed at his left arm self-consciously. "Is this...is this okay?"

"Yeah," said Steve, his mouth dry,  "Bucky, you're so—you're so beautiful."

Bucky's cheeks reddened, and he looked down. "I don't know about that," he murmured.

Steve climbed back into Bucky's lap, ignoring the way his cock jumped when it brushed against Bucky's thigh. "It's true, Buck," he whispered into Bucky's ear.  "You are beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you don't like."

Bucky's brow furrowed. "Did you just use my own line back at me?"

"I did, and I'm not taking it back," said Steve, nipping at the underside of Bucky's jaw.

Bucky sighed sweetly and stroked the hair at the nape of Steve's neck. He laughed softly as Steve ducked his head and pressed a kiss against his scarred shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to make you feel good," said Steve. He met Bucky's gaze. "Should I stop?"

"It's okay," Bucky said, "Feels kind of weird, actually. But not in a bad way. Just…" He chewed his lip. "Don't make this all about the arm?"

"Okay," said Steve. "I won't."

Bucky smiled tentatively. "Okay."

Steve kissed Bucky on the lips, then moved back to his jaw, working his way down to Bucky's collarbone and then lower down to his pecs. Bucky whimpered when Steve tentatively licked his nipple. Steve grinned, kissing the firm bud, sucking on it just a little as he pressed his tongue against it and licked hard. "Ste- _eve_ ," Bucky groaned brokenly, scrabbling at the sheets beneath his palms, " _Ah_  —"

Steve paused to take a breath, then continued working his way across Bucky's chest. He moved down to Bucky's abs, nosing at the trail of hair and alternating between kisses, kitten licks, and firmer strokes of his tongue. His own cock hardened as Bucky's muscles jumped beneath his mouth. Then he went back up until he reached Bucky's other nipple, giving it the same treatment as its partner. Bucky jerked upward, whimpering.

"Ah—ah—Steve!" His cock pressed hard against Steve's own, and Steve gasped, nearly coming right then and there from the friction even though there were four layers of clothing between them.

"Buck," Steve whispered, "Buck, I - I'm close -"

"Okay," said Bucky, panting. His eyes dropped to Steve's cock, his nostrils flaring. "You wanna—" He gestured haphazardly to Steve's pants. "And I'm gonna—"

Steve nodded. He quickly stood and wriggled out of his jeans, too worked up to get the slightest bit self-conscious about his skinny chicken legs and goofy blue boxers patterned with tiny red stars. His mouth watered as Bucky shrugged off his own jeans, revealing tented black boxers, thick muscled thighs, and well-defined calves. Steve's mind drifted a little as he imagined getting his mouth and his hands on every inch of that golden skin, but he snapped back to attention when Bucky resumed his former position on the bed, sitting and leaning against the headboard. Steve climbed in between his legs, hesitantly settling himself back on top. Both of them groaned as their cocks brushed against each other through the thin fabric of their boxers.

Steve freed his cock through the slit, his cheeks heating at the hungry look on Bucky's face. "Like what you see?"

"Yeah, Steve," said Bucky, reaching out a tentative hand. "Can I—?"

Steve nodded, dropping his hands to his thighs for balance as Bucky wrapped a firm hand around the base of his cock. Steve had imagined this moment, of course, but everything he'd dreamed about couldn't compare to the actual sensation. He wasn't even sure what noise he made when Bucky firmly began to pump his fist up and down. "Is that good?" asked Bucky, swiping his thumb across the drops of pre-come on the head.

"Yeah," Steve moaned, eyeing the head of Bucky's cock, which was peeking through his boxers. "Can I—"

"Please," Bucky said, his fist tightening around Steve's cock, "Yeah, please, Steve."

"Okay," said Steve, tamping down his nerves. He reached into Bucky's boxers and pulled out Bucky's cock—thick, long, and cut—and then he wrapped his fingers around it. He took a moment to marvel at the feel of it: soft skin stretched tight against a hard, warm length, with wiry hair at the base that Steve took care not to tangle in his fingers; and then he firmed up his grip and jerked his wrist upward.

Bucky hissed through his teeth. "Steve, I'm really close, I'm sorry —"

"No, I—me too," Steve said. "Let's—um—let's do this together?"

"On three?" said Bucky wryly.

"More or less," said Steve. "Ready?"

"Yeah," said Bucky.

Steve forced his hand to keep its rhythm as his pleasure quickly crested and spilled over him. His eyes rolled back into his head, and a strangled groan emerged from somewhere deep in his throat. A second later, Bucky let out a high-pitched cry, and something warm and wet spilled over Steve's knuckles.

Steve took in Bucky's slack jaw, his closed eyes, his relaxed expression; his worry lines had all smoothed out in the aftermath of orgasm. Steve vowed to commit the sight to memory—and make sure that he put that expression on Bucky's face again and again. He started a little when Bucky blindly reached out and patted Steve's hand, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

"That was amazing," he whispered.

Steve half-twisted to grab tissues from the box on the nightstand, suppressed a flinch at the zing of pain that shot through his twisted back, and then wiped both of them off.

"Thanks," said Bucky.

"Thank _you_ , Buck," Steve said. He took a moment to adjust his boxers—they were uncomfortably tangled, but thankfully they'd stayed clear of the splash zone - and then he curled up against Bucky's chest, reveling in their skin-to-skin contact. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," said Bucky, grinning widely and entwining his legs with Steve's. "More than okay."

They lay there cuddling for a long while in the dim light, pulling the covers over themselves when their sweat began to cool on their skin. At some point Bucky got up to use the bathroom, brush his teeth, and turn off the light near the front door. Steve forced himself to do the same, and then he crawled back under the covers, seeking Bucky's warmth like a missile. Bucky huffed and grumbled as Steve's cold toes pressed against his calves, but it didn't stop him from kissing the top of Steve's head. "Good night, Steve," he mumbled. "I set an alarm for um, early-ish."

"Good night, Bucky," said Steve, tilting his head and kissing Bucky's cheek. "Sleep tight." He dozed off with a smile on his face, the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Steve woke the next morning held tight in Bucky's arms, feeling like he'd just had the best night of sleep he'd ever had in his life. He smiled and wriggled around so that he was facing Bucky chest-to-chest, blinking in surprise as he looked up into Bucky's eyes. "Hey," he said. "Good morning."

Bucky smiled. "Good morning."

"What time is it?" asked Steve.

Bucky took in a deep breath, then let it out. "About 10 AM, I think."

Steve's eyes widened. "Your bus—"

"It's okay," said Bucky, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He pressed a close-mouthed kiss to Steve's lips, then stood up and pulled on the shirt, hoodie, and pants draped over his kitchen chair. "Come to the window and you'll see."

Steve made a quick stop in the bathroom, then pulled on his clothes from last night, shivering a little as he padded across the room on bare feet. "Oh," he said, his eyes widening. The courtyard outside was blanketed in white, and more snow was quickly piling up on the ground, the hedges, and the benches.

"Roads are shut down for a while," said Bucky. "Natasha and Clint texted me this morning. We decided to leave tomorrow, take the same bus as you and Sam. I already let Ma know. So we've got a whole extra day together, and the bus ride tomorrow too."

Steve's heart filled with warmth. "Happy winter break to us," he said, leaning his head against Bucky's chest.

Bucky made a small happy noise and wrapped his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder.  Steve nestled in Bucky's arms with a contented sigh, and together, they watched the snow fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
>   * [Patrick Bateman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Bateman) is a character from Bret Easton Ellis' novel _American Psycho_. In the film adaptation from 2000 he is portrayed by Christian Bale, who gives him a memorable [creepy smile](https://i.gifer.com/2YZ.gif).
> 


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make our day - especially comments! We would love to hear your thoughts. ❤️ 
> 
> Author: dragongirlG at [Tumblr (dragongirlG-fics)](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://dragongirlg.dreamwidth.org/) | [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/dragongirlg)  
> Artist: [walkingstardust - tumblr](http://walkingstardust.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Masterpost: [tumblr](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/post/183178692308/wrong-delivery-masterpost) | [dreamwidth](https://dragongirlg.dreamwidth.org/6106.html)  
> Art post: [tumblr - walkingstardust art post](http://walkingstardust.tumblr.com/post/183177007252/my-art-for-the-stucky-au-big-bang-2019-i-worked)


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